


It's the Little Things

by TheTireFire



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Explicit tag is better safe than sorry, Fluff, M/M, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-03-03 09:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13338198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTireFire/pseuds/TheTireFire
Summary: Relationships are difficult. Especially when certain individuals have been formerly possessed and have quite a bit of emotional issues to contend with; when the individuals involved have no idea what they're doing. But...it's worth a shot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea from the awesome pharaohskeep on Tumblr. A fic where there were no middle people involved, no rebounds, just some nerds falling in love. I can only hope that people enjoy it, and where it goes. I admit, I haven't written smut for anyone but my closest friends, so eventually posting it will be a new experience, so please be patient :p

A lone light lit the bedroom of the apartment, setting the shadows to paint a picture of the singular figure hunched over their desk upon the wall of the otherwise uncluttered room. His long hair dangled over his shoulders as he finished writing a letter to a sister who would never read it, his hand racing across the page in a way it hadn’t for months. He could hardly contain his excitement, or his nerves.

Tonight was the night he was going to speak to his newfound friend. Their friendship might have been considered odd by many, considering how they had met and the circumstances that had made them enemies at one point in time, but Bakura Ryou was not about to wave away this chance because of some unpleasant moments in the past. If he did that, he might as well just give up most of what it meant to live, which was the antithesis of what he aspired to do. Especially when his friend was someone that sparked other emotions within him; emotions that made him feel both ill and well, light as a feather and as in motion as the wind that blew it through the air. That had been something he had never expected to feel. Not that he didn’t yearn for it, but with his luck, the concept just never seemed within reach.

Yet, as he turned the light to face his bed and booted up his laptop, he knew he was about to face that prospect. He couldn’t pretend that the initial conversation they had had been full of mind-blowing realizations; most of it had been about apologies and acceptance. However, the one after that, and the ones leading up to this moment where they would get to be face-to-face once again (even if just through a webcam), had let them gather enough information on each other to prove that there could be a fulfilling relationship there. Both sorely needed it.

Bakura even hoped…perhaps…the relationship could be one of a different nature than what he was used to. True, he had friendships, none too close although that was changing, but he had never really attempted at a romantic relationship before. Not that people hadn’t shown interest, but when one was prone to blackouts and being possessed by an ancient spirit bent on revenge so old the meaning was forgotten, it wasn’t much of a possibility. At least, if someone like that wanted to keep a partner safe.

And…he was certain the other party felt the same. That was, if the last conversation they had in person was anything to go by. For once he was glad he was alone in his solitary apartment, for if declarations of anything romantic were to pour from his lips, he wanted them only to be heard by the person they would belong to. At least until he felt comfortable enough that it was a possibility, and that it was not fate playing yet another cruel joke on him. As he waited impatiently for the call to connect, he opened a new window to search the topic of fate and its place in many beliefs. Might as well, since he had first hand experience in at least one way.

Just as he found a link to a rather promising site, and found a particularly comfortable position on his bed, his computer alerted him of their joined connection. He quickly flipped back to the window where a jovial Malik faced him, the sun filtering through an open window. Bakura could see the clock behind him, a digital reminder of the moments that they would get to share sitting just shy of where the teen’s elbow rested. It read 3:30 pm. He waved to Malik as the other waved at him.

“Good afternoon,” Bakura greeted. He couldn’t contain the smile that came so easily to his face. Malik looked better than he had the last time that he had seen him. Not that he had seemed unhealthy, but recognizing one’s actions had consequences generally took a toll on someone; sometimes that was a sleep schedule.

“Good…night?” Malik returned, squinting at the screen playfully. “Dark enough over there for you?”

“I have a light on.”

“Get a better one next time.”

Bakura snorted. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to check with you for the exact specifications.”

“I’m just saying…” Malik shrugged before fidgeting with something off-screen.

“I appreciate the input. How are things going over there?” Bakura asked, re-situating the pillows behind him. He might at least need to change the light bulb. Sometimes he did tend to forget the smaller things that needed to be done in the apartment. It was easy to miss things when he was the only one who usually occupied it. Maybe he should check the fire alarm battery, too.

“Well, I’d say same old, same old, but that’s not the case. It took some time, and some help from several individuals who did not want to be involved in ‘the shady business’ any longer, but the Ghouls have been formally disbanded.”

Bakura’s eyes lit up. “That’s great! That’s one step toward going in a better direction.”

Malik’s arms shot up in a general shrugging gesture, expressing a self-congratulatory smirk, before continuing. “I don’t doubt there will be some informal business still being done, but everyone should be leaving me and mine out of it. They knew I could do some crazy, unexplainable things, but they don’t know I can’t anymore. So, they won’t be too keen on pissing me off any time soon.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the chance that they either find out, or try to come after you for another reason?”

“Aren’t your walls kind of bare for a teenager? Jeez, you an old man or what?”

Bakura frowned. “Leave my walls alone. I’ve got enough stuff hanging around in the room next to this one. I’m concerned about you, Malik-kun. Don’t change the subject.”

“If you were clever you would have caught my answer.”

“I caught it,” Bakura said, “but I still want you to tell me. I can hide behind smiles and humor too, you know.” He switched to another tab and began another search.

“Hopefully you are a better actor than that guy was.”

“I only like acting when I’m playing games. Please be honest with me. I like the fact we can be honest with each other.”

Malik sighed. “Who else can we be honest with, when our friends are all ‘good people’, huh? Fine. I’m freaking out a little, but I’m trying not to let it get to me.”

“Thank you. If you ever need me to do anything for you regarding this, please tell me.”

“Yeah, like you have some sort of underworld connections you haven’t told anyone about. Sure.”

“I’m sure my dad does,” Bakura said flatly. “While he’s a museum curator, I doubt even his job lets him access and take items that belong to other cultures without much fanfare. Especially in these times. Since that’s a thing, there’s probably something underhanded there. I can’t talk to him about the Items, but I could probably pull a favor for you, if I gave him enough of a reason.”

Malik’s surprise was genuine. “Thanks, I guess.”

A smile once again graced Bakura’s lips. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

If he had been on the tab that showed Malik’s face, he would have noticed the beginnings a sly grin. It seemed as if he was ready to turn the discussion to something more in his interests. Not that the other was aware. “Anyway, have I ever told you how much I like hearing how you pronounce my name?”

“Not sure,” the other replied, a little flustered. “I try saying it correctly.”

“Good luck,” he scoffed. “No, actually, give up. I just told you I liked it.”

“Stop…” Bakura could feel his cheeks heating up. He was filled with a mix of embarrassment and something else indescribable, but pleasant.

“You okay over there? Is it too hot?” Malik prodded from the speakers.

Bakura covered his face with his hands, feeling foolish. Thankfully, the other had given him an out. “It is getting close to summertime,” he said from behind his cover.

“Did you say something? You’re all muffled if you did.”

“You can see what I’m doing,” Bakura said, louder this time. His hands did slide off his countenance, however, realizing there was little point in concealing his emotions. “I said it is getting close to summertime. Finals are happening in a couple weeks. Our vacation before the next trimester will be happening sometime after that.”

“Maybe I should find a way to come over there, then.”

Bakura flipped back to the screen where he could see Malik picking fluff off of his blanket. Even from his position miles away, he could see his expression was becoming distant. As if that thought had brought something else to his mind. “Maybe, but did you decide what kind of schooling you were going into?”

Malik looked up at his screen and gave a sheepish grin, pulled back to reality. “Yeah. I think I’ll just stick with homeschooling. I was generally doing fine without the ‘regular’ experience.”

“You don’t even want to try?”

“And miss out on extra sleep? Nah. I’ll just wait until college for that.”

“I think it would help, you know, ease you into the ‘normal’ world.” Bakura was empathetic to the loneliness that Malik harbored, whether the other expressed it aloud or not. He was also aware that the Ishtar family had not come from an average family situation. Something he was certain therapy may assist with, but even with the way he felt, he did not know if it was his place to suggest such a thing yet. Not without major repercussions.

“I’m more concerned with finally living my life without the whole Millennium Items bullshit.”

“School…is something?”

“Is boring to talk about right now. Come on, let’s talk about something more fun.”

They spent a good portion of the night (well, night in Bakura’s case) talking about little things that helped them get to know one another on a deeper level. They argued about certain points in shows that they had agreed to stream together. They laughed as they sent stupid memes to one another. Of course, they also discussed gaming, but they tried to steer clear of a certain card game. They’d save that discussion for another time. If they didn’t, regardless of the other conversation points they would have wanted to discuss, it would have taken up the whole three hours that they had just spent talking. New rules this, new deck ideas that; it wasn’t even the game that Bakura obsessed over and, yet, it was the thing that everyone around him could talk about at length. He enjoyed Duel Monsters, but stepping away from it sometimes was a boon.

It wasn’t just Bakura that made the effort to focus on something else either; Malik was now going on about how he thought a recent superhero movie had been great, and that Bakura just had to watch it when he could. He took great pains to explain everything without spoiling anything, which was rather touching. It was the little things like that that made Bakura appreciate him all the more. It also spoke of how easily the teen could have made friends where he was, yet he chose to spend his free time talking to him. Bakura was not used to such attention. And when Malik dropped a flirt here and there, it never focused on his appearance, but on mannerisms he had, or a twist on something he had brought up before. Compared to what he was used to, it was a welcome change.

Bakura wished to return the responses with something equally suave, or embarrassingly sweet, but he worried that he only expressed his appreciation and interest in less obvious ways. It would have been easier if they were closer. He could then help him with things, do things for him. Offer, rather than just tell.

“So, when you come over sometime, or if I manage to travel over there first,” Bakura began, “I think I’ve got the recipe down. I’d like you to try it.”

“When I come over there, you aren’t going to have time for cooking. We are going to be doing so much shit, gonna go so many places. I barely got to look around.” Malik twisted at his hair as he spoke; Bakura noted that his hands always had to be doing something. He talked with them, he fiddled with things off-screen, he fussed with his arm bands. All bits of information that Bakura took in, and told himself to remember.

“I’d be happy to show you around,” Bakura offered. “And if there are any movies you want to watch then, we have a pretty cool movie theater nearby.”

“I want to go to one of the beaches over there. We were by one…er…during Battle City, but I never got a great look at it.”

“Make a list, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “See what you can do?”

“…Yes?”

“That’s a lot to promise. Also, I haven’t heard you mention anyone else so far. Intend on keeping me to yourself?” His look was so smug, if it had been anyone else, even Bakura would have wanted to wipe it from his face. As it was, Bakura gleaned the meaning.

“If I did?”

“Well, that’s a fuckin shock,” Malik said, biting his lip. “Have you been keeping all of this talking that we’ve been doing to yourself? Am I just a dirty little secret?”

Bakura rolled his eyes. “No. Yugi-kun and everyone else knows we talk…just not how much?”

“Oh? Does this mean I should…you know…” Malik made as if to play with his belt buckle and Bakura’s face grew bright red.

“Stop it—that’s not even—don’t you dare do that!” Even after hearing Malik’s laugh, and promises that it was just a joke, Bakura could still feel the burn of disbelief on his cheeks. “What if Isis saw you?!”

“I couldn’t help it,” Malik said, still laughing. “You make it too easy.”

“I just…” Bakura felt the need to explain. Joking aside, he didn’t want him to think that he was something he needed to hide. “I don’t tell them because…because I don’t want to jinx it.”

“Jinx it?”

“I’m not a lucky person,” Bakura’s face fell. He recalled all the things that had occurred so far in his life, from receiving The Ring, to his sister’s death, to the comas, and his own blackouts. Sure, the main cause was gone, but how long would his improving circumstances last? “I just want this good thing to stay.”

“Well, this ‘good thing’ intends on sticking around for a while.”

“Just a while?” The corner of Bakura’s lips twitched.

“You know, only until we move in and then we dedicate our lives to each other or something like that. That’d be the perfect time to leave.”

“Oh my god, you are so dumb.”

“You’re dumber—Wait. Dumb? Dumb was all you could come up with, by the way?”

“Stooop…”

“Make me.”

Only when his own clock read 3:30 (an absurd time to be up on a school night, but he had done worse) did they say their goodbyes. As Bakura returned his laptop to its place on his desk, yawning, he knew this was something he wanted to keep up with. It was too early to say how serious it could, or would get. Only time would tell.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotion is a healthy thing. Healthier when you can relate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. So, SO sorry. I meant for this to come out sooner, as while I don't know how long this is going to be, I know it isn't going to be crazy long. So you guys deserve some consistency. Life sort of got to me, so I hope that none of this seems choppy! Next chapter should come sooner, and with more on Malik!

The rain pattered against the window of the classroom, reminding all that what should have been a refreshing change to the hot weather had just become a humid mess. The gray skies were no more welcome than the promise of an upcoming test written in the corner of the board at the front of the class. Sighs of disgruntled students matched the monotony of the teacher’s lecture on the latest math problem to be solved. Not even a fantastic imagination could solve this dilemma. No one would escape this day in a good mood.

Umbrella in hand, Bakura stared at the ground, at the puddles that mirrored his discontented visage. His father had called earlier that morning, full of apologies. It seemed that he was needed out of country, and that his return home would be delayed once again. There were no arguments against this from the teenager, just a resigned response of understanding. Would any other reply provide a different outcome?

It would not have bothered Bakura so much if he hadn’t been in a sore mood for another reason. The loneliness he was beginning to feel since the absence of his other half was starting to wear at him. At the time he had been a strange presence, but better a strange presence he didn’t understand than the all-consuming solitary emotion that had begun to tear away at him the moment his sister and mother had passed. He pulled out his phone and stared at it for a time; paused in the middle of the sidewalk for what felt like hours but were only seconds. It was a possibility, but he didn’t want to bother him for such a trivial thing. Especially when he couldn’t remember what time it was over there.

He moved along the crowd again, back to his empty apartment.

“Do you know what got me into the occult?”

It was 11:00 pm but once again the sunshine was prevalent on the screen. Malik was chewing on something that looked particularly tasty, but he paused mid-mastication after catching the tone of the other’s voice. Readjusting himself from his position at the kitchen table, he leaned forward in interest.

“No,” he said, his mouth still partially full. “Tell me.”

“My dad always went on about the coolest stuff that he found on the digs he participated in. Some of it was technical, some of it mystical. He’d relay the tales and mythology of the ancient worlds, but always provided the reminder that the tales passed down generations had a tendency to change with time. It was always safer to assess the truths that could be seen, such as carbon dating estimations.”

Malik snorted. “Yeah, because that is something a kid wants to hear. But that does beat being told your only purpose in life is to protect a hunk of metal for the sake of a dead pharaoh.”

“It must have been a freeing experience to be outside on your own when you were able to.”

“Well, I’m sure someone has told you the tale my sister recounted to Yugi and the others.”

“I never said that the experience ended well.”

“Yup.” He went back to eating. “But you’re right. This beats being down in the dark all of the time. I might hate what I did to some degree, but the freedom we got because of it…I’ll take that with no regret.”

“I’m glad that you can see the positive in that situation.”

“It’s that or hate myself forever. That’s too much work.”

Bakura smiled. “So you’re a little bit lazy?”

The affronted expression that appeared on his face alleviated a fraction of the turmoil Bakura had been feeling that day. “Screw you. I’ll have you know that running an organization, then disbanding it, and then making sure the situation stays relatively cool takes a lot of work.”

“I never said it didn’t,” Bakura chuckled.

“Glad to see you smiling again, by the way,” Malik said, pointing at what Bakura assumed was his face on the screen. “You looked like you were in a shitty mood.”

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t apologize! I was just saying I can tell something’s up. So, explain.”

Bakura shook his head. The motion was negligible, but Malik got the message. Sweeping blonde hair out of his face, he leaned forward, and prodded the screen again, as if that would make some difference.

“Who else can you bother that wouldn’t hold whatever it is against you?” He questioned, aggravated. “It’s not even like you would be bothering me. You’re always the one telling me to be honest. Speak up.”

“It’s nothing that can be changed!”

“But it’s bugging you. So, spit it out!”

“Fine!” Bakura flopped back onto his pillows so Malik could hardly see him. “Of course, when the Ring came back with us, you’d assume that was the time that—”

“Not to piss on your attempt to share with me here, but I can barely hear you.”

Wordlessly, Bakura tugged up the laptop to where it reached his face. He tilted the machine, so Malik could see him better, and breathed in deep to ready himself in beginning again. Discussing this topic with anyone was difficult. He could already feel his eyes were beginning to sting. He didn’t feel stupid for crying, but he did feel stupid for bringing this topic up and not realizing sooner that it would be a struggle to discuss. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had talked to anyone about it. The reason for all the depressive thoughts he had felt that day was finally to be exposed in a place other than his mind.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

Malik motioned for him to begin, and Bakura recognized that for the first time in a long while, he was going to receive a listening ear that he felt would not just be empathetic, but compassionate. Just because his mannerisms were gruff in guiding him to respond did not mean that Malik lacked what it meant to be a kind listener. His full focus was on Bakura; something that made the young man more self-conscious, but all the more appreciative.

“It would be the obvious choice that The Ring was the reason for my interests in the occult, but it wasn’t originally my interest.”

“Who’s was it?”

“Amane’s.”

“Who’s Amane?”

“My sister.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hang on,” Malik said, his hands waving in a stop motion. “You have a sister?”

“Had,” Bakura replied with a somber smile.

“Oh…” Malik glanced away from the screen, as if he was searching for something or someone. Then his eyes returned to focus on Bakura, filled with an understanding. “Why didn’t you tell me about her? Was it recent?”

Bakura shook his head. “I don’t talk about her much because it’s still hard for me to accept that she’s gone. I know I should get over it—”

“Fuck that shit,” Malik interjected. “If it hurts, it hurts. Take it from a guy who held a grudge for years.”

Something about that made Bakura burst into laughter. He tried to stop, afraid that Malik would be offended, but when he was controlled enough to look up all he saw was a face that welcomed him to continue. He wanted to know what luck he had somehow gained to be comfortable with someone like him.

“Or, maybe, if it hurts, it hurts, but don’t hold a years-long grudge?” Malik offered and shrugged. “What do I know?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll take those words to heart.”

“Good. Now, your sister was into the occult?”

“And got me into it. Slowly. We were both fascinated by the prospect of another world, or another life that people led that wasn’t a part of this existence. Since we both played Monster World, too, it sort of tied in with making stuff up in our stories that we set up. She’d get so into it that I would get excited right along with her, and then we both just started looking into if ghosts were real, and the similarities and differences between the stories other cultures told each other…”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a little…mature? I don’t know. Not like you were thinking like kids.”

“Oh, we were,” Bakura said, shaking his head. “We weren’t writing dissertations or anything. We just took the base level stuff that our father told us and went wild with it. But then…”

“The Millennium Items came into play?”

“She died.”

Malik blinked. “Oh…damn.”

“Yeah,” Bakura said, wiping at the corner of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t be this…sad…still. But she and I, I mean my mom tried, but we were always there for each other, and we always watched out for each other…and when she left…”

“You felt all alone.”

“Yeah.” Bakura attempted to keep his voice from cracking but failed. “He’s always gone! I know he has to work, but for all that time…For all that time since her death! Since the Items made their way into my life! He’s just never been here!”

“Let it out,” Malik said, his voice soothing. Bakura wasn’t hearing him, but he did just as Malik requested.

“It’s not fair! What did I do to him? I didn’t mean for any of this to happen! But I feel like a jerk if I bring it up. I’ve tried to make friends, and well, look how well that went.” He motioned, as if his life had been laid bare. Through his words, it was. “They went into comas, and that pushed him further away. I didn’t mean for it to happen…I didn’t mean to be such a burden on him. Amane would have understood, if she was still around. But she’s not.” 

He viciously wiped at his eyes. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. Malik sat in silence as Bakura vented. “She’s dead, and my mom’s dead, and my father is off doing who-knows-what in some other country. Sometimes it just feels like he takes these opportunities to get away from me. I mean, shouldn’t a curator stay sort of close to the museum they care for? Maybe I’m an idiot. I don’t know. I never wanted to bother Yugi-kun about it, he already had so much on his plate, and I tried to focus on other things—”

He wanted to throw something, but he sat there in his grief and anger, stewing just like he had earlier that day. Yet, he felt a little better.

“Well, we both could say our dads wouldn’t get parent of the year awards?” Malik offered, but Bakura couldn’t muster a laugh. Not yet.

“I wanted her to be alive again so bad,” Bakura replied. “But I learned early on that wasn’t a possibility. After watching what we saw with Pegasus, I knew I didn’t want to go down a path like that, either.” He paused and scratched at his head. A thought had just occurred to him. “I wonder what happened to him.”

“Who knows,” Malik said, waving off the idea. “It sucks that you were alone for so long. Just so you are aware, though, you’ve got someone you can talk to now about stuff like this.”

Bakura eyed Malik with a tired expression. “I’m glad I do. I’m sorry you have to hear it, though.”

“Hey, I want to hear more. And also, more about that game you won’t shut up about, so get to explaining more of the modern rules. Only if you aren’t in the mood to vent, that is.”

“I think I have said all I can right now.”

“Explain to me, then, about being a bard.”

Bakura chuckled, and then rolled his eyes. “You have to promise to sing to me, then.”

“You act like I can’t.”

“You can?!”

It might not have been much to some, but that day sparked something deep within Bakura, something he had not felt since his sister had been among the living. Where had been beside him, laughing along with him as they began their very first dive into their world of make-believe. The feeling he got was very different, however, and that sparkle in Malik’s purple eyes as he explained the specifics followed his thoughts as he slept that night. And what a pleasant dream that came from it…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things get serious, your problems are no longer your own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad, sooo I might have just written this chapter in a day to make up for the fact that I was super late on that last one. I hope you all like it. I'm getting a better idea as to how long it is going to take for them to see each other again, and I've got some...good news? ish?
> 
> At any rate, I'm going to shoot for finishing the fourth chapter by the end of this week, since they aren't terribly long and all. This story feels like it lends itself to some short, compact chapters.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yes! Is everything okay?”

“Uh…not quite? But don’t worry, I’ll be okay. I think.”

“Malik-kun, don’t scare me like this…”

Bakura had his back to the door of one of the bathroom stalls. When his phone had gone off in class, he had feigned that it wasn’t his and had kept working. At first, he couldn’t imagine who it could have been that would call him. Then it rang again. And again.

It had gotten to the point that he had quickly slid it into his pocket and had requested to use the restroom. As it was rare that he ever made any disruptions in class, most people did not assume it was his phone. Only those nearest to his seat would have had any idea, and considering one was one of his friends, Bakura didn’t see himself being ratted out. Only questioned later. He was allowed out, and he hurried out of the door, making his request seem genuine. In a way, it was.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” Malik replied, his voice low and muffled. Bakura wondered if he was hiding somewhere. “Just wanted you to be aware of the situation.”

“How can you be so calm?!” Clutching at the side of his head, his fingers twisted between the tangles of his white hair, Bakura tried to restrain his voice. He did not want anyone to overhear him, to cut this discussion short. His heart was beating a rapidly, as if it were thundering the warning that Malik had deserved.

“Because not being calm could mean I die,” Malik replied. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone else is home with me. Isis is at work, and I already sent her a text. I’m sure that she will tell Rishid, he was helping her with something, and all of this will be handled. I just have to stay out of sight while—” There was a crash in the distance, and Malik cursed under his breath. “I hope that wasn’t anything expensive. Bastards.”

Bakura placed a shaking hand over his mouth. He couldn’t fathom the blasé approach Malik was taking on the whole situation. Someone breaking into his home? He had no qualms with admitting to himself that if he were in the same position, he would be near tears. To think that someone as important to him as Malik could—

No, he had to stop thinking that way.

“Do you know why they are there?”

“I fucking better. I got a glimpse at one of them before I ducked in here. I don’t want to tell you where but know that I seriously doubt they’re gonna find me. Or that I’m going to get out without Rishid’s help,” he laughed quietly. “It’s one of those fucking dickheads that used to work for me. Thought I had more time before they came knocking.”

“Malik-kun!”

“Dude, shut up! Your voice carries too, remember?”

“I’m so sorry!” he whispered, panicked.

“Stop apologizing, oh my…” Malik paused, and then there was nothing from the phone that rested against Bakura’s ear except for small scuffling noises. Bakura swallowed with difficulty, trying to remain silent for the other. He didn’t think he had been caught. That would have made too much noise. He hoped, praying to no one in particular, that Malik was okay.

A minute later, and a minute closer before anyone would go looking for Bakura, he heard Malik’s voice again. It still had that calm demeanor, but there was an edge beginning to sneak in between every word he spoke.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “They were really close to where I was. Had to keep my mouth shut. Thanks for not screaming into the phone.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Bakura noted, his heart still racing for the other teen. “You’ve got to get out of there. It isn’t safe.”

“Yeah, lemme just go out there without a weapon against a few armed thugs. Love that idea.”

“I thought you said that…that…”

“Yeah, I thought so, too. I guess that mystical powers don’t have the same freak-out factor as they did thousands of years ago.”

“But what would they want from you? You guys disbanded, right?”

“I’m the thing that ties these guys to other people. If I were, god or gods forbid, to get caught by the government or law…remember please that I wasn’t just counterfeiting cards? I mean I had a process. Anyway, if I blab, then they get caught, and put in a place where the sun don’t shine. I don’t blame them for not wanting that.”

“Malik-kun, they are trying to kill you.”

“Uh, yeah, I got that. Thanks for noticing.”

‘If he were here, I swear, I’d kick his ass,’ Bakura thought to himself. It was very uncharacteristic, but no less true. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, thinking of what he could do. Which was nothing.

“Did you want me to stay on the phone with you?” He finally asked. Malik snickered.

“Nah, just wanted to tell you I’ve got some visitors over, and that we were thinking about having lunch.”

“I’m just asking because I could fake being sick and get out of here. Maybe alert the police over there?” He wondered how he would go about doing that.

“Gods! Fuck no!” Malik hissed. “Let Isis get her connections. At least then we won’t be exacerbating the situation and getting my name on some kind of watch list.”

“You need help now!” Bakura whispered in a panic with the force he wished he could have applied to yelling.

“Right now, just hearing you is all the help I need. I appreciate what you want to do, but this is my mess, and now I’ve got to sit in it.” There was a sigh from the other end. “I just felt like I should tell you that I—”

A bang interrupted his sentence, and Bakura clutched the phone in his hands so tight he was certain it would shatter. Sliding to his knees, he hit the tile with enough force that bruises soon would follow. They had been in such precarious positions before, and death had been an ever-present factor. Yet, he didn’t want this to be the end. Not when they had just begun to live their lives as normal people. He didn’t want Malik to lose his chance because of the mistakes he had made in the past. Others might have believed that he deserved it; maybe Bakura would have thought so too, if he wasn’t so emotionally involved. As it stood, he believed Malik deserved happiness. He sat there in silence on the restroom floor, impatiently waiting for some reply on the other end. If he had to face consequences for missing class, he would gladly take them. Someone else was more important.

In the wee hours of the morning, in another place in the world, Malik had crammed himself as far back as he could behind the boxes that rested on the shelf of his sister’s closet. This had been a difficult task, in part because he had to lock the door from the outside first, to make sure it seemed as if no one would be hiding in there, and in part because he had needed to maneuver in the dark. The first time he had needed to pause, it was because he realized his foot was poking out from one of the boxes, so he had needed to shift them down to his feet as quietly as possible. This had left his head exposed, but he would have rather faced his death with some dignity at this point, and not because his feet were exposed. As another bang rang out, he shifted down, once again, to where he was able to create the appearance of being completely hidden, unless you looked between the cracks of the two large boxes on the left. The boxes were a bit heavy, and Malik figured if the door opened to an unfriendly face, he could at least maybe give one of them a concussion before going down.

Breathing as lightly as possible, he tried to discern what was creating the banging noise. He didn’t think it was a gun; that would have been louder. Perhaps they were vandalizing more of his family’s things. Either way, Malik wished whatever was going to happen would happen sooner rather than later. Waiting only made it harder to feign the sense of calm he was putting on for Bakura. He didn’t even know why he bothered to call him. It’s not like Bakura could have done anything physically. However, his voice had helped him remain hopeful, and not so alone in this dismal situation.

He closed his tired eyes, and silently thanked the powers that be that his sister had needed to leave the house early to prepare some shipment that was to be made to another museum. Rishid had gone to help her, so that had left him alone that early morning. Not that it bothered him; what usually bothered him was his conscience.

And now his conscience was reminding him that this was all of his fault.

When he had been in the midst of ruling these thugs, he had known that it was a cutthroat world. You didn’t end up as a teenage mafia boss—gang boss? He didn’t know the term. He had just been the boss—without committing crimes of your own, and vicious crimes at that. It had helped that he had the Millennium Rod that had simplified persuasion (to put it lightly) but his focus had been so much on revenge, he hadn’t thought of what might occur after he was done or failed and lived to deal with the aftermath. He had never thought he would reconcile with his sister, or care about anyone’s safety. Now here he sat, scrunched up in a dark closet, locked in with his concern for his immediate family. About to confess something to a guy that made him feel normal, feel at home with, during a really inconvenient and unromantic time.

Or he would have if that stupid banging would go away.

Malik could hear Bakura’s soft breathing on the other end, and it calmed him more than the other teen could know. Hearing him express his fear for him allowed Malik to remain as composed as he had been throughout their conversation. As the pounding and banging echoed throughout his tiny hiding space, he let his mind wander to the last time they had seen each other. He remembered the other’s gentle face, bright with the same hope he had felt. This could work out. If that was to be their last interaction seeing each other, he wished that it had been in person, and not on screen.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he mouthed at the air, fearful of how close the sounds were getting. In the dark he could see the outline of the door and the shadows that were now moving just beyond it. He pressed himself as close to the cool wall as he possibly could. The screen of his phone faced him to ensure that the light would not give anyone cause to check. Time ticked on within the open call, but neither spoke. Only time would tell if the door would open; his hiding place discovered. 

“I get it. I killed people. I let them die. I used their minds against their will,” he continued silently, for his own sake and sanity. “But let me make up for it in some goddamn way before you take me out. Let me live my fucking life.”

‘Let me see him again,’ he thought, his heart aching, before the door flung open, pouring light into what felt like his darkened tomb.

There was an indistinguishable noise on the other end of the phone with yelling and struggling sounds that followed. Bakura covered his mouth with his hands, unable to move, unable to decide a course of action. He just hoped this would not be the last of Malik Ishtar.

And then the talking began. He stopped breathing, straining to hear what sound that was coming from far away. The phone must not have been on the teen any longer, and the words spoken were not in a language he understood. Yet, he heard Malik’s voice. At first it was quiet, and full of the trepidation that Bakura would have expected from him earlier. Then it as more commanding, and frustrated. Perhaps petulant. Whatever it was, Bakura let tears of relief fall down his cheeks. Malik seemed to be safe for now.

“Malik?” he let himself ask, his voice faint even to himself.

“I swear that the next time these fuckers try this shit, I’ll personally beat their skulls in. Next time, I’ll be ready!” Bakura was unsure if Malik had heard him, and changed languages so that he could understand, or that he was becoming more heated and couldn’t decide what language to use. Either way it was a stupid proclamation considering the position he had been in. Bakura couldn’t help but laugh, even if it had a fretful tinge.

“Yeah, yeah,” Malik stated as Bakura’s laughter filled the bathroom. His voice became completely clear at that point; he must have picked up his phone. “Glad you can laugh about it. My room’s a wreck and my leg’s asleep.”

“You’re alive, you ungrateful bastard,” Bakura countered. “Let me at least be grateful for you! You could have died!”

“Come on, I’m going to hear it enough from Isis, and I’m getting it from Rishid right now. Can I not get if from you?”

“You told me before that you had it under control. Excuse me for being worried when you are the one who called me in the middle of class, which is like super early for you, wanting to keep me posted because some unhappy lackeys were breaking into your home!”

“I just wanted you to be aware, just in case…”

“Just in case you died. I have every right to be pissed off at you right now. Let me be happy, damn it.”

“Oh, good god, you are so dramatic.”

“Being worried for someone’s life when they are in legitimate danger is not dramatic. It’s logical. Also, what were you going to say earlier?”

“I was going to say that, um, that—”

The door to the bathroom was pushed in, and on reflex Bakura clicked the call button to end the conversation. He didn’t know who it was, but he didn’t want any possible teacher recognizing a student who was ditching a class. His concerns were unwarranted, however, but even as the other individual spoke, he was glad he had hung up.

“You okay in there, Bakura?” Jounochi’s voice rang out. Bakura wiped his eyes and cleared his throat before responding. It was awkward, but still, he didn’t think Malik would want the truth spread around just yet.

“Yeah, just a stomach ache,” he lied. “Is the teacher angry?”

“Probably angrier I asked to go. Just Yugi and I were worried. You were taking a long time. Guess it makes sense now.”

“Yeah,” Bakura replied, breathing in another sigh of relief. “Um…I, uh, will be out soon?”

“’Kay.” And with that, he was left alone once again. Bakura stared at his phone for a minute before placing it in his pocket. Whatever Malik had wanted to say was probably best saved for another time. Later on that day Bakura intended on asking a favor of someone and didn’t want anything such as getting in trouble in school to sour the deal. It had been something that he had been considering for a little while now, and considering the most recent events, he felt that it was now or never.

Taking his time to compose himself, Bakura made his way back to class. He doubted he would be required to complete anything that would be as adrenaline inducing as that instant had been. At least, if he couldn’t collect himself enough, he could always blame it on his “stomach ache”.

That wasn’t embarrassing or anything.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we only have ourselves to rely on...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha! I was able to keep up with my schedule this week! Next week's might be late, since I have my own relationship to be celebrating soon...and real life stuff is sort of making itself known again...But it shouldn't be absurdly late like last time! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Bakura sat at the dinner table, tapping his fingers against its clean finish. The smell of an expertly crafted meal wafted from bowls and plates that he had carefully placed to have the most visual appeal. If history didn’t call to him in college like he hoped it would, perhaps he could become a chef of some sort. It had been fun to make.

He considered these idle thoughts as he stared blankly at the empty seat before him, the utensils of a meal ready to be eaten glistening in their arrangement. Everything was in its place, from the meal, to the dishes that had been cleaned and put away. The refrigerator hummed in the silence. His eyes began to dance from the clock to the seat. His tapping fingers soon became a jiggling leg of irritation. The meal was still warm, thankfully. It wouldn’t remain so for long. The clock ticked in harmony to the beat his fingers tapped as he waited. And waited. And waited.

Bakura’s phone let out a short buzz, and he snatched it from his pocket. His eyes scanned the screen with eagerness; people rarely contacted him, and there were only two individuals that would at this time, both of which he wanted to speak to. He hadn’t recognized he had been holding his breath until he let it out in a huff.

It had just been a news article update.

He began to tap the heel of his foot against the linoleum, the sound padded by his slipper. “Do you think he’s even coming?” he asked the air and waited as if he would receive an answer. When none came, what had been something to amuse himself simply placed him in a sour mood. The voice might have given him a response to placate him. Bakura supposed that had been how he had been so easily won over, and not able to see that the shifts in his memory were something severely wrong rather than just very annoying. It had been years, but Amane probably would have complained about how he rarely ever showed on time and how they should learn if they could make ghosts into friends. That brought a brief smile to his dejected face.

To think on the living and their response, Malik doubtlessly would have said not to worry about it, to let it out, and make him focus on something else afterwards to bring the mood up again. He was good at that. Unfortunately for both, Malik was dealing with the aftermath of what had occurred on his side of the world and hadn’t responded to Bakura’s most recent text. Bakura understood. Although, that still didn’t make him feel any better. Especially when he wanted to help Malik in any way he could.

Placing a hand on either side of his cheeks, Bakura pressed inward, focusing on that pressure rather than the mounting weight in his heart. There was always a possibility that something had gone wrong on his end, too. Bakura felt a wave of guilt pass over him, and he pressed harder against the sides of his head. His nails slowly dug into the flesh beneath them as he worried on what might have gone wrong, what possibly could have gone wrong. The simple solution was that he was still going through the long process at the airport. Maybe he forgot to text him that the plane had been delayed. Maybe…maybe it had crashed and that had been the news artic—

Bakura’s eyes read over the notification on his phone again and sighed in relief. It was just about some celebrity conflict. He slid down in his seat and considered texting Yugi to see what he was up to. Finger paused over the message symbol, his shoulders slumped. That was right…he had a date with Anzu today. His friend had finally worked up his courage to ask her out on a proper date, with no middleman involved. They would probably be at the theater still. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt someone’s good time. The phone clacked softly as he set it on the table.

He sat back up in his seat about five minutes later and grabbed for his phone again. He had been patient and worried enough for one night. One night in what felt like thousands.

As the phone processed his call, he wondered if the reason all the antics the spirit had gotten into had never been questioned was due to this lack of communication between father and son. Bakura knew he usually held things close to the chest. Had he learned that from his father? Would he end up like this? Burrowing into his work to have a reason to ignore problems at home?

When the phone finally picked up it was silent for a few seconds. Then a rather confused but friendly voice replied. “Hello?” it asked, a near-hidden tone of “why are you calling?” at its edges. Bakura smiled into the emptiness of the apartment. At least there was nothing severely wrong.

“Hey, Dad…” Bakura said. “You still at the airport?”

“Airport?” His voice sounded more confused, but the edge in it had ceased. “I didn’t tell you that I was coming home Sunday? I had to change flights.”

The smile persisted. “No. I think you might have forgotten. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh! Yes, I’m fine. Everything is going well over there, right?”

“Yes,” he paused. “Sort of. I’d rather talk to you about it when you got home.”

“It’s not school related, is it?”

“No, no. School’s fine. I’ve caught up on all of my work. I won’t be getting the top score or anything this year, but I’m trying my best. Doing well with what’s being taught right now…”

“Good. Are you getting along well with your friends?”

Bakura leaned away from his phone to sigh before putting it to his ear again. “Yes, Dad. Everything here has been fine…but…”

“But?”

Bakura could hear the concern in his voice and didn’t fault him for the cautious exasperation that came with it. He couldn’t recall how many times he had needed to call him for strange happenings, such as friends falling into comas. No doubt his father was sick of hearing about his problems. This one was important, though.

“I have a friend in Egypt, and he’s having some problems.”

“Oh,” there was obvious relief in his voice as he spoke. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did you meet them online?”

“No, I met him here, when Battle City was going on.” Could that have been considered a lie? Part of him had met him at that point. Perhaps just not his consciousness. “But he’s been having a really hard time, partly because he’s been—” 

There was a muffled voice on the other line, and he could hear his father talking with someone. Bakura stared up into the air, already sensing what was coming. Soon, his father was speaking to him again.

“I’m sorry, I have to go right now. Tell me when I get home, okay?” Once again, his father spoke with the voice before returning to end the call with, “Be safe. Love you!”

“Love you. Bye.” Bakura hung up his phone, placing it on the table. An agitated grumble escaped his lips as he flopped his face into his arms where they rested just beside his dinner. Useless, he was so useless. He couldn’t even vocalize how serious this situation was, couldn’t force his father to just listen for one extra minute. Didn’t even explain how important Malik was. Yes, he was a friend. The only one he felt he could talk to, especially when he had so few people to confide in. A friend that also made his heart beat quicker, and his heart feel lighter than it had in years. One who needed something or someone to hide behind. How to do this when he couldn’t get his own parent to take a moment to listen…he would have loved some guidance for that.

Bakura lifted his head and eyed the plate of food across from him. It seemed he had lunch for tomorrow ready.

Later that night, Bakura was once again facing Malik from his laptop screen. He was trying his best not to appear too worried, or too frantic, but his eyes kept tracing the teen’s every feature, memorizing what could already be recalled with fair clarity. Even if he had that self-assured smile, Bakura still wanted to hold him in his arms, and tell him that no matter what, he would try to help him stay safe. For now, he would just have to content himself with expressing this over the internet.

“Are you okay? This isn’t too soon, right?” Bakura asked, resting his chin in one of his hands.

Malik yawned, his eyes betraying a bit of the lack of sleep he had received. In response to Bakura’s question, he pulled the corners of his mouth down and stuck out his tongue. Bakura started, both shocked at his nonchalant response and just how long the teen’s tongue actually was. 

“How the hell did you do that?”

“Whaa?” Malik asked before returning to a composed appearance. “What do you mean?”

“Your tongue…”

Malik snickered. “It’s natural? I guess not all of us can have such tiny little things.”

Bakura snorted in response. “I have a normal sized tongue, see?” He poked his own out at Malik, who hmphed at the display.

“Unless your mind was somewhere else, thinking about what you were going to do with it, I don’t see the point in this.”

Bakura’s cheeks flushed. “You were the one that started it! I was just wondering how you were doing!”

“I guess if I can joke around, I’m fine,” Malik replied, shrugging. “I don’t know what else you want from me right now. I’m not even handling the particulars. I’m ‘not allowed to for my own benefit’.” He made quotation motions in the air at that and flopped back in his chair. “Sure, I can’t go murdering people anymore, but you’d think I’d get more of a say.”

“Yeah, because murdering people was a viable option in the first place,” Bakura scoffed, feeling a little irritated by his attitude.

“Just say it,” Malik motioned at the air with an eyeroll. “I know you want to.”

“It’s what got you in this position.”

“I want to talk about something else than my position right now. Unless it’s, like, a different position you mean.”

“How can you talk like that when anyone could walk in at any moment?”

Malik eyed Bakura with an incredulous gaze. “I was half-asleep when I heard the front door being tampered with, from my room. I’m in the kitchen, which is like right by the damn door. Also, I’m super alone right now. I couldn’t honestly give a shit.”

Bakura’s face felt warmer at the thought, but something else concerned him. “Are you okay being alone?”

Malik exhaled, annoyed. “I swear you are so dense sometimes. If I was okay being alone, I wouldn’t want to talk to you right now. I’d want to do something else, like get back at these fuckers. But since I’m trying to take the more measured approach, and listen to my sister and Rishid for once, I’m super bothered being alone. There. Are you happy now?”

“If you had a chance not to be alone, would you take it?” Bakura asked. He readjusted his seating position, bracing himself for the answer. If Malik answered in a particular way, Bakura would have to get over himself and act rather than consider everyone else’s feelings. There was only one person’s feelings to consider anyway, and it was not like he was around often.

“Sure? I mean who wouldn’t?”

“Are you serious about that?”

“Yeah, I mean…oh…” Malik blinked, a tentative grin crossing his face. “Isn’t it you now, that’s moving fast?”

Bakura’s eyes did not leave Malik’s. “I want you to be safe. I’d do whatever was necessary.”

“Bakura…” Malik started, and he took on to fidgeting with something on the nearby table. “You understand that if they were after me, and they found out where you lived, that it wouldn’t matter?”

“Why would they expect you to be here? Have you told anyone about us?”

“I mean, Isis and Rishid know I like you—”

“Just like?”

“Are you going to play semantics with me? Seriously?”

“I’m serious!” Bakura snapped. He could tell after he spoke, that Malik had not been expecting the response he was to give. “If no one knows how close we really are, why would they expect you to be here?”

“I…I mean, I’d consider it,” Malik stammered, thrown off by the ferocity of Bakura’s inquiry. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of me, though.”

“We’ll go over the specifics later, then, after I can ensure I have a place for you,” Bakura stated plainly. “Is that okay?”

“Yes?”

“Good.” Bakura smiled. “Now, what were you saying about other positions?”

Malik’s eyes twinkled with interest. “So now you want to play?”

“We still aren’t showing each other anything, you understand?”

“Afraid?”

“No,” Bakura cleared his throat before adding, “I just would like to see it in person, for the first time.”

A few more flirtatious remarks were thrown before the door on Malik’s side did jiggle, the sound of keys only reaching Malik’s ears, alerting the both of them to Rishid’s early return home. Even Bakura felt as annoyed as Malik looked from the other end, and soon enough their shared moment ended with quick goodbyes.

Bakura snapped his laptop closed, frustrated on multiple levels. Thankfully, part of that frustration was something he could manage on his own. He placed his laptop on his desk and flopped back down on the bed. He covered his eyes with his hands, conjuring up a recent image of Malik, smirking and looking just so…regal?...in the sunlight. With one hand moving from its position and sliding down his torso to pierce the space between where fabric and skin met, he wondered many things about Malik. From their briefest of interactions, he could recall his scent, but not what he tasted like. He wondered. He wondered if he would be more adept at certain activities, or if Malik, with that mouth of his…would…

He sighed in pleasure as that thought coincided with a pleasant zing that traveled throughout his body. For now, this imaginative interaction would have to suffice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simple pleasures of a day off together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize. I apologize. I apologize so much! This was actually supposed to be out on the 14th because of reasons, but lo and behold time got away from me. Not to mention I deleted a completed variation of this chapter because I just...hated it. So I had to rewrite it all. I hope that you all enjoy this one!

Bakura stood beside other anxious individuals and passersby as he waited amongst the crowd. In front of this collection of impatient people, others began to file out of the doorway that lead into the city that they aimed to be in. Bakura clutched at his phone, awaiting any buzz from a confused caller as his eyes scanned the mass of people. At one point, he had even raised himself up onto his toes to get a better view of the passengers that were disembarking.

His face broke into a great grin as he finally laid eyes on his anticipated visitor.

Just before summer vacation came rolling around, Bakura had finally managed to corner his father into having a complete—and meaningful—conversation with him. By no means was anything harsh said, nor was the extent of how close Malik and Bakura had become, but after some fast talking, a couple of lies and omissions of truth to sweeten the deal, and a few calls between his father and Isis, his plan was finally put into action. It wasn’t much of one yet, but it at least provided Malik with a way to get out of immediate danger without alerting anyone of the reason why Bakura was making such a fervent request. If he had been any more transparent, he doubted it would have come to pass.

He had gotten a better concept for his plan due to the discussion he and Malik had the day after the attack. If anything seemed out of the ordinary, Isis seemed keen on keeping a close eye on her brother. Malik mentioned that he had even had to remind Isis that he had been speaking to Bakura for a while before the attack against them, and if anyone was going to hurt him, it wouldn’t be Bakura. “He’s just too nice…and kinda timid?” was how Malik put it. 

Malik trusted his sister, but he also had an interest in seeing the world…and seeing someone else. As such, it was his job to make it seem like what had just transpired was no reason he couldn’t visit a friend over a holiday. It had been a hard battle, with many concessions on his end, but Malik had finally succeeded, and just in time.

Bakura had switched the perspective of his attempt, realizing if he asked to house a friend who was in immediate danger it would have lead to unwanted questions. And, no doubt, a resounding no.

Thankfully, it seemed Bakura’s father had forgotten most of what Bakura had said on that Saturday evening. It made lying so much easier (although it didn’t lessen the guilt he felt for doing so) and after promising to be as responsible as he always was, he was granted permission to invite him. His father did want him to have friends, after all. It also helped that he recognized Isis’ voice, and that they had done business before.

Now Bakura stood, unable to suppress a tiny wiggle of delight as Malik came strolling up to him, confident and tall. To Bakura’s discerning eye, he also appeared quite handsome.

They stood before each other, unsure of how to react. Verbally and emotionally, they had gotten much closer. It was the question of how to react physically that seemed to give them pause. It wasn’t foreign to either of them, they had been close before, but it had just been so long. Even though it was not what he felt as his strong suit, Bakura took in a deep breath and made the first move, wrapped his arms around Malik, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Under his embrace, he felt Malik’s body seize up. Bakura released his arms and backed away a step. “Sorry, I thought…”

“No, no!” Malik reassured, but his visage held a complete expression of discomfort. “It’s just I’m still sort of getting used to people touching my back, since…”

“Oh.” Bakura nodded in understanding and then reached for him again. This time his arms wrapped around Malik’s neck, tugging his posture a few inches down in the process. “Better?” Bakura asked.

Malik’s shoulders relaxed. “Yeah,” he said through a chuckle. “But you aren’t nervous? Don’t you think this makes us look like we’re kissing—or going to?”

Brown eyes met lavender. The tinge of red that flowered on his cheeks did not stop Bakura from asking, “We’re not?”

Their lips met as they had once before, but this time it lasted for more than just a second.

Bakura had wanted to spend much of the day getting Malik acclimated to his new room, which his father had graciously let him borrow, but Malik seemed to have other ideas. As soon as his bag hit the carpet, Malik was inquiring about a variety of things. He wanted to go to some of the popular restaurants, see a new movie that was coming out, go to the arcade with Bakura. His list of activities to do seemed endless. As he listened to the other teen go on about his ideas, Bakura smiled gently. He wasn’t opposed to just going with the flow, if it was with Malik.

“Then again,” Malik said as he flopped onto the couch. “Is there anything you’d like to do? It is your vacation.”

Bakura shook his head, sitting beside Malik. He was almost at a loss for words. The nearness of the other seemed to cloud all other thoughts in his mind. It was a frightening but pleasant experience. Just next to him, slung over the top of the back of the couch, was Malik’s hand. He wanted to be pulled in by that hand, to be pressed against Malik’s chest. To hear his beating heart and know that he was safe and happy beside him, as well. Could he simply look at his expression and see the contented look upon his face? Of course. However, after having most of their conversation from a computer screen, he wished for more.

Bakura might have braved instigating a kiss, but he was still unused to the close proximity of someone who made his mind spin. Had he imagined all the possibilities, of activities that would be best saved for when darkness fell? Of course, he had. He was not ignorant to such wants; it was just no one aside from Malik had ever really asked about them. Also, he was one to keep such talk close to the chest. Let Jounochi and Yugi have their perv-out sessions, swapping porn on the downlow. Thinking on that, it wasn’t exactly like their tastes converged with his own. All of this flew through his mind before he was tapped on the shoulder by the very hand he had been contemplating moments ago. He jerked his head in Malik’s direction, who waved at him, with an eyebrow raised.

“Hello? Anything you want to do?”

“I want to hold you,” he replied without thinking, and then slapped a hand over his mouth. At that reaction Malik first tittered, and then began laughing without restraint. He covered his face with his hands at first, and then wrapping his arms around his stomach when it began to hurt his sides. Bakura gave him a frustrated glare as his laughter turned into wheezing.

“Ah, yes, the great and terrifying concept of holding your boyfriend! I figured we eventually would get there, but I didn’t realize you of all people would be so ‘forward’!”

“Shut up,” Bakura grumbled. “I just hadn’t planned on responding with that.”

“I can only imagine what you’ll ask of me next! You of the quite silver and dirty little tongue…will you ask me if you can hold my dick next?”

The glare that Malik received set him into another fit of giggles. The laughter pouring from his lips stopped as he felt Bakura shift beside him. For who had once been seated now was perched before Malik, his kneeling form pinning Malik’s legs to the couch. Bakura was so close, their faces mere centimeters apart. Pale hair tickled Malik’s nose, as did the clean scent from whatever soap the other teen used. For a second, both sat there, lost in each other’s eyes. Both too enamored and afraid to move.

‘Am I pushing this too far?’ Bakura worried to himself. He could feel Malik’s breath on his face. It shuddered against his cheeks as the other let out a shaky breath.

‘Does he know I’m not trying to be an ass?’ Malik thought, relishing the pressure of the other on top of him. The sofa cushion creaked below them. ‘I want him this close…’

And then Bakura snickered. Which set off Malik again. The two laughed, their foreheads touching, amusing themselves with the absurdity of their fears, even without realizing what the other thought. Had they not faced horrors, created horrors, far worse than this; intentional or not? Here, they were trying for something completely normal, and they couldn’t take any of it seriously. It was as if they feared the intimacy that the both of them craved so much.

“Sorry,” Bakura said, leaning back. He was now seated upon Malik, but the other was not complaining. “I was trying…I don’t know. I was trying something.”

“I hope you got whatever reaction you were looking for.” Malik brushed a few strands from Bakura’s face, looping it behind his ear. “And don’t apologize.”

“Are we just pushing this too fast?”

“I dunno,” Malik confessed. “Were you trying to have sex with me right now?”

“No!” Bakura squeaked, shocked. His face became red with regret. “That’s not what I meant. The no, I mean. I mean eventually—I eventually would want to…I just have no idea how to start. I wouldn’t want to push you to do anything…”

Malik put a finger to Bakura’s lips. He marveled at the soft skin beneath his own. He searched Bakura’s expression, his own countenance hungry enough to leave the other in silence without the gesture. “Let’s take it slow then. Talking and flirting while talking, we seem to have that down. Kissing, we’ve done. That seems to be okay for now. Just know, whenever you’re ready, I am.” He shrugged, shifting a little from under Bakura’s weight. He was uncomfortable, but the discomfort was localized to one particular area. “Not gonna lie, I’ve jerked it thinking about you.”

“How…romantic.” Bakura’s response was dry, but the way he turned his gaze away lent itself to the probability that Malik was not the only one who was fantasizing during such moments. 

Malik chuckled, pulling Bakura back toward him. In response, Bakura wrapped his arms around the other, holding Malik as he had originally intended. Nuzzling the crook of his neck, he thought on how pleased he was to have him there. How near he was now. 

They rested there for a few moments, thinking on nothing but one another. That was until Malik shifted again, and Bakura became aware of why he was moving so much. It excited him, that feeling against his backside, but he moved off Malik, going to the kitchen instead. He needed to compose himself; he wasn’t quite ready yet. There was still so much of the day to be used for other things, as well.

“You asked me what I wanted to do; I got what I wanted. What do you want to do?” Bakura opened the freezer, and leaned in a little, letting the cool air regulate his body temperature. He also saw a container of ice cream that looked rather appetizing. He reached in and grabbed it.

“A lot.”

Bakura gave him a look and tossed him a spoon. “A little more specific? Oh, can you eat ice cream?”

“Pfft. Yeah. I just don’t like red meat.” Malik caught the spoon and made himself comfortable. Lounging against the armrest, he poked Bakura with his foot as the other sat beside him with the carton. His foot was caught in the other’s hand, but he had the other’s attention. He grinned.

“Before we do this, maybe we should go out to eat?”

“Thank you, that’s much more specific,” Bakura said and waved the spoon at him. “You don’t like dessert before food?”

“I wanted to try a crepe. They look interesting.”

“Ah. That would create a bit of sugar overload.” He took the utensil back from Malik but dug into the chocolate swirled ice cream. The bite he took threatened to give Malik a brain-freeze just by watching him.

“And yet you’re still eating,” Malik noted.

“I like sweet things, what can I say?” Bakura said, lightly kicking his feet against the carpet. After that awkward moment between them, and how it had dissolved such feelings, he was much more comfortable with having his long-distance boyfriend near him. “Have any ideas as to what you’re in the mood for? Ramen? Something fancier? Homey?”

“Take me somewhere you like,” Malik offered. “I place myself at your mercy. Can’t try new things when I don’t know what to try.”

Bakura gave him a sheepish grin. “I usually eat at home. Or eat fast food.”

“Well then, let’s just search restaurants and pick one at random.”

“Got it.”

It might not have seemed like much to others, but that day was one of the happiest that either of them had had in recent memory. They spent it not just eating (they did eat quite a bit) but by roaming the nearby park, watching an action movie that Malik had wanted to see, and spending the later hours of the afternoon challenging one another at the arcade. They would save the sightseeing for another day.

Sure, this might have been a day that they could have spent with their friends. All the activities were of the same vein. That was, if any of them had known about Malik’s arrival. Both had intended on sharing this information, but they had wanted at least one day together, alone. That was enough time to be selfish, enough time to be solely involved in one another. 

Bakura found his fingers interlaced with Malik’s as they walked back to his apartment. It felt right, his heart fluttering as he was able to note how Malik flipped his hair over his shoulder beside him. Something about this gesture felt different then just observing it on a screen. He couldn’t explain it.

“I’m exhausted,” Malik yawned. As they entered the elevator, he released his hold of Bakura’s hand and swung his arm around the other’s shoulders.

“Same here,” Bakura said, leaning into his embrace. He slid his arm around Malik’s waist, and was pleased with the response. They held onto each other, closer than they had been all day, as they ascended.

“I’m super jetlagged. Good luck waking me up tomorrow.”

“You’ll survive,” Bakura teased, unlocking the door to his apartment. “Today was fun, though. Thank you for coming all the way over here.”

“Why are you thanking me? I’m the one crashing at your house. Don’t think I don’t realize why, either.”

“Let’s not talk about that right now.” Bakura took Malik’s hand and guided him to a darkened room. It was one he had not entered yet. “Let me show you something I made.”

“Wait,” Malik blinked in surprise. “You made it already?”

Bakura nodded. Flicking on the light, the pair were welcomed by a wide table, customized for a game that could finally be played without fear. “I did invite them over to play tomorrow—later on, of course—so I wanted to make sure you had a figurine to match. I hope you like it.”

Pulling out a wooden box from under the table, he unlatched it. His eyes scanned the figurine inside, checking for any inconsistencies. Satisfied, he passed it to Malik for further inspection.

Inside was a figurine made with care. Each crevice was painted with just the right amount of paint, enough to coat, not to pool in the crevices. Purple eyes stared into those painted purple, his skin tone surprisingly consistent with is own. Compared to the others that were on display around the room, this one was a symbol of artistic improvement and love for the craft. From the pattern of the fabric, to the small smirk painted upon its face, everything was supposed to express the character created; as well as the heart of the player who would use it. Upon the figurine’s back was a lute, with small metal wires affixed to it to make the visual representation as accurate as the craft would allow. Malik plucked the figurine from its plush bedding and took a closer look. Upon closer inspection he saw that there were even slight dots of white, indicating a shine to his eyes.

Bakura sat beside him, holding his breath. He did not get to share his work too often, not regarding this topic at any rate. Not with these high of stakes. He really hoped the other liked it.

“So?” Bakura could not help but ask. Malik turned back to him, the figurine still between his fingers. Even though he held it delicately, Bakura still worried.

“This?” Malik inquired, lifting it up to eye level. “Am I that fat?” The corner of his lip twitched and Bakura shook his head, laughing.

“Jerk, it’s your clothes,” Bakura said, playfully swatting at him. Malik dodged, now cradling the figurine in his hands. “And you do have muscles.”

“I’m joking. Joking. I love it.” He marveled at the piece. “I almost don’t want to play with it. You really made this?”

Bakura’s face flushed. He rubbed the back of his head, pleased but a little embarrassed. He hadn’t expected that sort of praise. “Yeah…I get really into it.”

“Can you show me more?”

“Of course!”

They spent a few hours discussing the game and updating Malik’s player character sheet, which was pretty par for the course. Already they had played a few short campaigns, difficult with just two people, but they had enough imagination. It was only when Malik’s eyes were visibly drooping that both decided that it was time to go to bed.

Bakura showed Malik to his father’s room, which was rather sparse, and fit more as the guest room that it was acting as at present. They both stood in the clean yet lonely room for a few moments, Malik sleepily leaning against the doorway as Bakura took one last glance to ensure it was as he had attempted to make it. Livable. Clean. Inviting.

It was difficult when he knew there wasn’t much to it.

“Eh…I don’t want to be pushy, or too forward,” Malik started, his voice catching on a yawn. “But…want to share a room tonight?”

“Are you sure? My bed isn’t exactly a large one.” Bakura’s heart felt like it was beating out of his chest. It was an exciting prospect, even if nothing was going to happen. He was glad his father wasn’t going to be home to question why, exactly, Malik was choosing a less comfortable sleeping arrangement. He still wasn’t quite sure how to explain without, at the very least, having some restrictions placed on them.

“Beats being cold.” Malik’s words were jovial, but even Bakura could sense that Malik felt a little less comfortable with the thought of sleeping in this room. He wondered why.

Malik’s things were instead brought to Bakura’s room, with the sleepy occupants joking about hogging bed covers and stealing pillows. Bakura grabbed his clothes from the dresser while Malik chose what he wanted to wear from his bag. As they undressed, both were acutely aware of the other in a way that was different compared to any usual circumstance of this nature. Perhaps Malik was unused to it, but Bakura had undressed in front of his friends before and never once had he felt this distracted, this fascinated by the person before him. Bakura’s eyes traveled along Malik’s torso, his hands wanting to feel those muscles rather than the night shirt he had in his own hands. When his gaze dipped lower, he could feel heat rising in his cheeks, almost burning as he noted the bulge at Malik’s crotch was more prominent. His own boxers were feeling particularly uncomfortable at this point. Malik caught his attention and held it with a ravenous gaze. Neither were feeling tired any longer.

The two waited for the other’s reaction. They stood there only in their underwear, Malik by the bed, Bakura by his dresser, shirt still in hand. He let it slide through his fingers and onto the floor. The sound did not reach his ears, which were deaf with the pounding of his heart. Seeing his expression, Malik’s lips curled into a smirk and he beckoned him over. Bakura did not hesitate.

Soon, lips crashed against lips in a fevered kiss unlike either had performed in their lives. Both were overeager, hands freely roaming all there was to the other’s body. Bakura kept enough of his senses to try and refrain from touching Malik’s back, but did not stop himself from admiring the other’s frame. Malik felt so strong under Bakura’s touch, but he also felt tense. Bakura wondered if he had done something to make him uncomfortable. Even as he had this thought, he felt Malik relax, and let out a held in breath as they parted for just an instant to catch their breath. Under his fingertips, he felt someone who was letting his guard down.

Malik toyed with Bakura’s hair; pale locks contrasted against his dark skin. With a gentle tug, he brought him closer still. Bakura groaned in pleasure. All of this was more than what he could have hoped for. With every caress, with every moan as they pressed against one another, he felt wanted and needed. It was not only this instant that made him feel this way, either. This day had been full of wonderful moments between them. He had found someone who shared in his interests. Someone who he could appreciate for all his differences, no matter their past. Someone who first and foremost cared for him as an individual; this pleasure just being a side benefit.

Before Bakura realized what was happening, he felt Malik lift him slightly, and then there was a mattress against his back. He did not think his heart could beat any faster. Especially when Malik’s hand slid under the elastic. “Malik-kun,” he whispered, part of him excited about the prospect, part of him reeling from all the preparation he had not set up for.

“Don’t worry,” Malik soothed, just as Bakura’s breath hitched from his touch. “I promise we won’t go further than this. Just please, let me…”

“If you let me?” Bakura offered, his own hand just above the cloth of where Malik obviously ached for some release. The other responded with a kiss.

Both found immense pleasure in one another that night. While not everything went as expected, as these things never do, it was more than either had hoped for. At the end of it all, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, excited for what the future held.

And when they woke up, it was to a brightened room of early afternoon, with promises of more fun to come playing on their lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, writing this one was a struggle. I am not quite sure where Mature moves to Explicit, not sure if I need to edit it to make this listed as Explicit based on what I intend for the next chapter...It was just a mess. And I'm so sorry it took so long. On the bright side, it sort of made me want to write another fic where we actually see the game they play. Since Yu-Gi-Oh! and games go hand in hand. If anyone is interested in that, do tell me!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to keep a cool head.

Two weeks had passed since his arrival and it already appeared as if Malik considered this his second home. It gladdened Bakura’s heart but there were moments when he noted some things were easier when one lived alone. For instance, while Bakura was elated that Malik offered to do the dishes occasionally (which Bakura had expressed that he did not have to and in response Malik had dismissed the remarks and did them anyway) he was a little confused as to why he couldn’t pick up his clothes. Or why he left the bathroom sink a mess after using it. It was something he could forgive, though, and it was a concept which could be worked out over time. It was not like they were living together “for real” yet.

Although Bakura did enjoy pretending.

At that moment, Bakura busily turned over the tamagoyaki that he was preparing. Two bento boxes rested on the counter beside him, ready to be filled with the tasty meal he had devised. They had intended on spending most of the day outside, as the past few days had seen them cooped up at home, due to a rather powerful summer storm. It was not like either of them had minded much. Bakura was well-known as a homebody and Malik appeared to have no qualms cuddling with his boyfriend as they watched TV—or starting impromptu make-out sessions while they waited for something good to come on.

Speaking of Malik, he was upturned on the living room couch. His feet rested, crossed, on the back cushion as he clicked through the channels, his expression flat with boredom. By him in an abandoned heap lay some of the books his sister had insisted he bring to continue his studies. They had been resting there for the past week or so, a constant reminder of what he should be doing. He took one look at them, glanced back at the TV and sighed.

“You know it’s bad when I want to do ‘homework’,” he bemoaned. With a click of the power button, he turned off the TV. Instead of doing said homework, he wandered over to where Bakura was cooking their meals. Slinging his arms around Bakura’s waist, he burrowed his head into the crook of his neck. “How much longer?”

“There’s plenty to do, if you’re just waiting,” Bakura replied. He turned, raising an eyebrow at the other. His line of vision only gave him a view of slightly disheveled blonde hair. “You could make the bed while I finish this.”

“Would rather try something in bed,” Malik grumbled, backing away in a pout. He did turn to go to the room, however. It must have seen like a good enough idea.

“Thought you wanted to go out today!” Bakura called back at him as he refocused his attention on his cooking. A slight tinge of pink graced his cheeks, but he grinned despite it. He was becoming used to such exchanges.

Although they hadn’t done anything more risqué than make out since that first instance of exploring one another’s bodies, the possibilities had not been far from Bakura’s mind. He was positive Malik also had such thoughts based on the way that he would sometimes just stare at the other teen. Neither had made another move to further their physical intimacy, however. Bakura knew why he hadn’t. He was not quite certain what “part” he wanted to participate in; cleanliness concerned him, as well as whether insertion would be an issue for him. Behind the closed doors of his bathroom, when Malik had been sleeping, he had attempted to see if it was his preference. He had been left with mixed results at best. On top of that, he was still getting used to how near Malik was all the time. This was a pleasant thing to get used to, so he didn’t complain.

He wasn’t sure why Malik hadn’t made a move yet, though. Maybe he worried about the same things. Whatever the reason, they would take it slow. They were teenagers after all and there was no need to rush; there was always a chance this wouldn’t last, anyway.

The thought depressed him, so he put it aside and focused on the sizzling pan before him. At the same time as he flicked his wrist to fold the last layer of egg mixture onto itself, his phone buzzed. A second later, it buzzed again. Bakura smiled. Impatient, was he?

As a joke, since both of them knew Bakura rarely used his phone to contact others, Malik had decided to use it as a chance to text him, whenever he wasn’t in the room. Most of the time it was one letter messages, just enough to slightly aggravate him (say if he were cooking as he was right now, or grabbing the mail, having left Malik upstairs) but not enough that Bakura couldn’t find the humor in it. He looked to his phone, expecting this, or a picture of some arbitrary item in the room, maybe a made bed, but found nothing of this nature. He frowned at what he did see.

A number he did not recognize had messaged him. Just before he opened his phone to check on it, it began buzzing in his hand. This time, it was a phone call.

He clicked the green button to answer it, placing it to his ear. Cradling it against his shoulder, he carefully slid his work onto the cutting board. An automated call, he would have thought, if it hadn’t texted him. Maybe his father had gotten a new phone and had changed his number. But why? One of his friends? No, they would have mentioned it. A wrong number? He should have checked the message.

As the line on the other end provided a static snap of connection, he rolled his eyes at himself. The mental gymnastics he ran through for a simple phone call. He received more calls than that to warrant such scrutiny, right?

After calling out a simple greeting, he waited for someone on the other line to respond. His brow furrowed when there was no initial response, and as he began slicing he wondered if they had finally realized they had the wrong number.

“Is anyone there?” Bakura asked, his eyes darting to the side where his phone rested, as if that would help his hearing.

“Oh,” the voice replied finally, deeper than whatever voice Bakura had been expecting. “It’s you.”

“Me?” Bakura placed his knife down, wiping his hands so that he could grab a hold of his phone. He waited for a response, but the call was dropped almost immediately. He looked at his phone in confusion, and then opened his messages to see what the person had sent.

Who are you? The first message read.

How do you know Malik? Read the second one.

A bit unnerved, Bakura’s thumb hovered over the characters before typing out his response.

Who are you? He parroted. They somehow managed to recognize him, it was only fair they returned the favor.

Only a few words had been exchanged, so it made it difficult for Bakura to identify the voice. Even so, he wracked his brain for a few moments as he waited for a reply. He wondered what the other would respond with. Would it be a misunderstanding? A threat? They did know Malik…how did they know he did? How did they know him?

As he mulled over these questions, a red word flashed before his eyes just beside his message. Retry.

That wasn’t weird or anything.

“Malik?” Bakura called. His voice wavered slightly, but he managed to keep it calm. With a few flicks of his thumb, he pressed retry and closed his phone.

“Huh?” came the response from the other room. Somehow, his very voice calmed Bakura, which made the other look guiltily over at his phone. He didn’t want to ruin Malik’s time here, especially if he could resolve this without sounding the alarm. Maybe it wasn’t even that big of a deal.

“Any preferences to what box I put this in?”

Sunlight dotted their skin as they sat beneath one of the large trees that shaded the park. Bakura’s head rested against Malik’s shoulder, bobbing slightly as the other texted something to someone. At first Bakura had not minded; it was just nice to be outside and with the other. The heat of the day had lulled him into a comfortable daze. The short instances of breeze played with their hair, only adding to this effect. However, the bobbing that his head was doing at present was uncomfortable and lasting far longer than his tolerance allowed. Not to mention that he was allowing this daze to occur because he trying to put the strange call from this morning from his mind. He did not want to be rude and blatantly watch Malik text, but he was getting agitated enough to ask:

“Who are you texting?”

“My sister,” Malik replied, continuing to type. “She’s hounding me about making sure I don’t do anything to overstay my welcome. I’m telling her I’m not.”

“I don’t think you are.” ‘You could be a little tidier though,’ he thought to himself.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. With a quick turn he kissed Bakura’s forehead and continued relaying his message. “She’s also bitching about how I am not responding fast enough. I’m trying to explain to her it would be rude to constantly text her every five seconds, and how it isn’t me that’s the problem. I don’t know how you do it, by the way.”

“Do what?” Bakura’s gaze wandered to the dirt that encircled the tree they sat by, the pressure of Malik’s kiss a residual feeling that traveled through his whole person. He watched a line of ants carry white bits of matter around the tree, only half-seeing them as he focused on the feelings that occupied his mind. How could he be so anxious, yet so happy, at the same time? He honestly hated the anxiety, which he felt was deadening what would have been the most wonderous feeling to have on this summer day.

“Maybe it’s just my phone, I dunno, but your reception can get really shitty in that apartment.”

“I’ve never really noticed,” Bakura said; his mind directly went to the call this morning. Was that the reason? Maybe a different country then.

“Yeah, it’s probably because you usually don’t use your phone, and I’ve only seen you call from your room. It’s got the best over there, I’ve noticed. Just so you know, it’s shit.”

“Thanks,” Bakura replied sarcastically. He did take the time to pull out his phone, as Malik was engrossed with giving his sister honest, although in a rather clipped and irritated way, reasons as to why he could not respond. He tapped the message and noted it still had not gone through. Clicking the message to retry again, he waited. After a short period of waiting, it went through. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the other person to reply.

Really, he never noticed the reception as an issue. He had managed to call his father from the kitchen before, after all.

“Aaand done,” Malik proclaimed, sending his strongly worded message. Bakura slid his own phone back into his pocket. For Bakura, it was good that he had, for fingers interlaced with his shortly after, and with a swift motion, he was abruptly pulled to a standing position. He was barely able to muster a quizzical look before Malik’s lips were to his ear.

“I’m driving us to the beach today,” he murmured, his breath hot against Bakura’s ear. Bakura was glad Malik still had hold of his hand, for his knees felt suddenly weak at the sensation. Something else seemed more attentive than his knees at this instance, and he only hoped it was not visible to passersby. “After that, we should go home a little early, and explore some things,” he continued, his fingers brushing Bakura’s hair away from this chosen ear, tickling at the nape of his neck, “that would make you blush even harder than you are now.”

“Why do you do this in public,” Bakura whined, his voice soft and low, not wanting anyone else to hear how affected he was.

Malik chuckled, leaning away. His smile was bright and taunting. “Because it’s kind of cute. I could probably whisper the contents of whipped cream in your ear and you’d react the same.”

“It’s the sensation!” Bakura hissed, playfully smacking Malik on the shoulder.

“Stop making it so easy, and maybe I’d stop.”

“Jerk.”

“Next time I’ll do it in my language…”

“Stoooop.”

Even though the rest of the day went well, by evening Bakura felt almost sick with worry. He had had no response from the call from this morning, which somehow seemed worse than if they had said they were Malik’s mortal enemy. At least then he would have been comfortable enough to tell Malik earlier. Now he felt like an idiot, and an asshole for not mentioning anything earlier.

Malik appeared to be in tune with Bakura’s emotions, having ceased his jokes and come-ons. Now he sat, once again, on the couch as Bakura bit at his pinky nail, examining the contents of his refrigerator with an unnatural focus. This effort to remain understanding was weakening after watching Bakura close the refrigerator, walk to a cabinet, and then back to the refrigerator a few times. He sighed, crossed his arms, and did the only thing he knew that would break this bizarre spell his boyfriend seemed to be under. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

It worked like magic. Bakura’s head turned with a direct and almost frightening pace. Malik allowed himself a small, half-satisfied smile before he put an end to this strange behavior.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” he inquired with a not-too-gentle tone.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Bakura flung at him, causing the other’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“I’m not the one pacing in a never-ending spiral of what should I eat, while trying to chew off my own damn finger. You’re acting like a jack-ass. Now tell me, what is going on.”

Bakura pointed a finger at him. His eyes were hyper-focused with stress. “Your feet, first.”

Malik rolled his eyes. “Fine!” His feet once again were planted on the floor.

Bakura shuffled over to him. In his outstretched hand was his phone. Upon it was the unanswered message.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner,” Bakura whispered, before letting his brief story out. Malik listened, scrutinizing the number and the message as thought on what had been bothering Bakura all day. After the tale was over, Malik shrugged, tossing the phone back at Bakura.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” Malik replied. “You’re blowing something way out of proportion.”

“Blowing things…out of proportion?” Bakura gawked at Malik, who was now taking over for Bakura in the kitchen, pulling out a soup packet from the cupboard, and some vegetables from the crisper. “This is like, no big deal to you?”

“Yeah,” Malik replied, tossing some seaweed at Bakura who just barely managed to catch it. “You gonna help me out with dinner or not?”

Bakura did not sugarcoat his next remark. It was unlike him, but after all his worry, and this subsequent answer, it was the only thing he felt was fair.

“You suck at cooking, so I have to.”

“Ah…” Malik nodded, acquiescing. “By the way, good evening, asshole.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“If you watch.”

Dinner ended up a quiet affair, with Bakura still ruminating on the strange call and messages, while Malik enjoyed the strange blend of food that they had managed to make together. That was not to say it was an unpleasant night. It was just that Bakura could not wave away the unexplainable so easily. He never had been able to, or cared to, before.

“You know, not caring about it still doesn’t explain the strange message left on my phone this morning,” Bakura said, reopening the conversation from earlier. They had just finished their meal and as he allowed his guest a moment to digest, Bakura began his clean up. He checked the temperature of the water before raising one of their glasses up to it for rinsing. As he began, the dishes barely clinked against the sink, every action of his completed with silence in mind: He wanted to hear what the other had to say.

Malik sighed, recognizing the topic was not to be dropped. “I doubt it was anything serious. You said it yourself when you told me the story. It’s just me, Yugi and the others, and your dad that ever call you. If you know it isn’t me, since I’ve been next to you almost all day, and through common sense it isn’t your dad, it’s probably the others being stupid. Someone wanted to make a little prank call; they don’t know the situation, or why I’m here. Could be completely innocent. They haven’t responded, after all.”

“Malik-kun, don’t you think that them asking how I know you is a little specific? On top of that, it might have only been a few words, but I didn’t recognize the voice. If it had been some robotic message, I would have thought nothing more on it. And…and…I’ve never received a prank call on my cell phone, ever.”

“Well, count yourself lucky, then.”

“That’s not helpful.”

It was then that his phone buzzed.

Bakura’s hand wavered over the plate that he had been intent on cleaning. The soapy sponge dripped uselessly in his other hand; the suds barely missed falling to the floor. He whirled around to where Malik sat. The expression on his face conveyed the same emotion he was feeling. Apparently, Malik had not been so certain that everything was fine.

Wiping his hands quickly on a nearby towel, he grabbed the phone, swallowing hard when he recognized the number for its strangeness. If he did not answer, he would forever be afraid of who this person was, and if they meant harm to Malik. With a shaking hand he accepted the call.

This time, the person on the other line did not wait for him to say anything before speaking.

“Bakura…Ryou, right?” The voice said. It seemed calm, but that did nothing to quell how Bakura felt at that moment. It seemed that the reality of dealing with a former boss of a criminal organization and all his baggage was finally catching up with him. That did not stop Bakura from wanting to be a part of Malik’s life, which was why he responded.

“Yeah. Who are you?” Bakura demanded. His voice was more forceful than he intended, but perhaps it would make the person on the other side rethink what they were going to do.

There was an instant of static and a soft laugh came from the other side. “We’ve seen each other before, but never really spoken. I am Rishid, Malik’s adopted older brother.”

Bakura froze. It was if his brain had malfunctioned. He felt light-headed—no longer out of fear, but sheer relief. Malik stood, realizing something big had been revealed on the other end, and moved toward Bakura, ready to take the phone. His face was bubbling with growing rage, and he would have snatched the phone out of his hand if Bakura hadn’t raised his other to block him.

“Oh,” Bakura said, finally collecting himself. “Why are you calling my phone?”

“I’m doing a favor for Isis, and I was just checking some of Malik’s contacts. Sorry I couldn’t call back earlier to answer your question, but the call was dropped, and I had something else to attend to.”

“Oh,” he couldn’t help but repeating. “…And you couldn’t ask Malik about this because…”

Another laugh. “You are a close friend of his, right? I’m sure you understand how he acts about his personal business. He’s not very forthcoming.”

“I understand. I am very sorry for being so rude earlier.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure you are very busy. Malik probably is taking up much of your time, and you must have other things, such as studying to be doing. I would be a bit irritated, too.”

“Uh…yeah. Yes.”

“You know, he speaks very highly of you. I hope that you two remain friends. It is good to see that you two have worked past any animosity you might have had, and he does struggle with readjusting to the world. Even I still struggle with some things.”

‘Friend?’ Oh, that was right. There had been some omission on Malik’s part as well. “Sure. I hope all goes well with what you are doing.” Behind him, Malik’s expression had shifted to complete confusion. He reached for the phone again, and this time Bakura placed his hand directly on his face and pushed him away. “Perhaps, next time, you guys could come visit, too!”

“That would be nice.” Wonderful. 

“May I ask, is this your number?”

“Mine? Oh no. This is a number from Isis’ office. It’s sort of a throwaway line we rarely use but for our…well, I’m sure Malik has already told you, making sure Malik is making better choices with his life.” A pause. “I’m sorry, but Isis is calling me on the other line. You have a nice night. It is night, right?”

“Yes. Good night.”

With a calm motion, Bakura hung up his phone and with an odd gentleness, placed it on the counter, far from the edge. He turned to the baffled Malik who had still been standing behind him and smiled. Taking the towel, he began twisting it in his hands. His face showed complete complacency. Inside, he was screaming.

“Malik.”

Something on Bakura’s face seemed to unnerve Malik, and he unintentionally took a step away from the other teen. “Yeah?”

“Do me a big favor, and text Rishid for me? Ask if he’s had a conversation with anyone aside from Isis recently. When you get a response…please speak with me again.”

“O..kay…?”

“Until then, refrain from speaking with me.”

“Can I ask why?”

Bakura smiled at him. “Because I don’t want to overreact right now. And I know I’m going to.”

It took about fifteen minutes until Malik came shuffling back to him, an apology written all over his face. Bakura, seated at his kitchen table, was shuffling his deck absentmindedly. Malik took the seat across from him.

“So,” Malik began.

“I’m sorry,” Bakura interrupted.

“Yeah?” Malik replied, a little irritated. “I am sorry, but you don’t have to—”

“No,” Bakura sighed. “I am sorry. I sort of made today a bit of a mess. It would have gone better if I had just been clear with you.”

Malik snorted. “Yeah, we could have not worried about it.”

“But you were worried,” Bakura pointed out. “That was why I was mad. Also…Malik, have you ever seen that number before?”

“Yeah, but I have seen a lot of numbers. I’ve had to deal with a lot of people.”

“…fair enough.”

They sat in silence for a while. The clock ticked, but no longer was it much of an issue for Bakura to listen to. After a time, Malik folded his hands in front of him, and gave Bakura another very earnest and apologetic expression.

“You know,” he began, “I could give you a hand job as an apology.”

“Malik—excuse me for saying this—but what the fuck.”

Needless to say, eventually, he accepted the apology. Then, he offered a similar one in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry, so so so so sorry.  
> I never meant for the wait to be this long. I feel so bad!  
> (I did try to upload it last night, but there apparently was a *thing* that wasn't allowing that to happen)
> 
> Not even going to lie, this chapter did not turn out like I outlined at all. I liked it enough, though, that I wanted to keep it. Which means that the next chapter will probably be shorter, but filled with a little...something...extra. If you catch my drift ;D  
> I only ask for a little patience, as time does tend to get away from me, and not because I want it to (I really wish I had more time in a day omg)


	7. Chapter 7

Physical connection was not all they had, but it was definitely something they both wished to examine. The question was not necessarily when, as they had opened that door nights ago, but what would be the catalyst for further exploration. While one was the far more impatient participant, the other had a mind that contained ideas that would have shocked the former with how brazen they could truly be. It mattered not who was who; just that as the vacation drew to a close that juncture was just on the horizon.

The cacophony of the still thriving town below echoed through the Bakura’s apartment window. An overbearing heat left the night humid, leaving most people in the streets at arm’s length. This was not so for the occupants of the darkened bedroom.

In this room, where shadows lit by streetlamp defined their movements, two figures were pressed against one another, shifting and grinding as they followed their bodies’ wants. They were still fully clothed, for only recently had they managed to shift away from the couch to the bedroom, having bumped into and bounced against many things to get there. Even now Bakura giggled into Malik’s mouth as his foot caught in the pant leg he was trying to rid himself of; he chose to fail at seductively losing his clothing rather than letting go of the form that bit at his lower lip with an intensity that was as much pleasurable as painful. Careful to not touch Malik’s back, Bakura chose instead to dig his nails into the other’s shoulders, a hint to lighten the bite, but also a way to express he enjoyed it. Surprise filled him when Malik reacted.

Instead of joking around, or backing off, Malik deepened the kiss, grabbing one of Bakura’s hands in an incredible grip. With a slightly awkward motion due to their positioning, he pulled it over and across him so as to have Bakura’s embrace. Appreciative of the trust, Bakura first rested his other arm around Malik and waited. When he felt Malik relax rather than seize up in discomfort a small grin spread across his lips. Bakura pulled the blonde in closer.

As he did, Malik released himself from the kiss, but not from Bakura’s embrace. He gazed into brown eyes with care and lust in equal measure before dipping his head low, nuzzling his lips against Bakura’s neck. He proceeded to pepper the pale skin with love bites, taking time here and there to leave light purple patches against the nape of Bakura’s neck. Bakura squirmed under him, arching his back to press against him. Malik returned the pressure and groaned into Bakura’s ear.

Prone to be the quieter of the two, Bakura shocked himself with a moan that matched the other’s lustful plea. It enticed Malik, who let his fingers drag along Bakura’s sides, choosing this moment to whisper something unintelligible into his ear before biting the lobe playfully. It could have been something entirely benign. Knowing Malik, it probably was something he could laugh at him for later. Right now, Bakura wouldn’t have cared if he was reciting instructions on how to boil water. His imagination was giving him his own ideas.

This time it was Bakura’s fingers that trailed low, tugging at and unbuttoning Malik’s pants. He still held him close, feeling for the zipper rather than seeing it and the sound of it’s swift release excited him further. He felt the warm, stiff cock held back by fabric and bypassed the cotton confines to grasp Malik. Confident, familiar with the pace Malik preferred, Bakura began to stroke the part that fascinated him so. Malik grunted in pleasure, leaning back and away to observe the other at his work. With each gasp, Bakura’s self-assurance grew. He pressed a palm against Malik’s chest, his heart beating wildly under the heated skin, and set him to lay against the bed.

Malik eyed him curiously. Bakura had shifted from his position. No longer under him, but with one knee against the bed, dipping the mattress at the side, his other leg holding most of his weight, Bakura hovered over him a moment longer taking in the sight before him. Bakura gazed at how Malik’s skin, even in this warmth, was slowly raising with goosebumps. His dark nipples were hard, much like what Bakura was pumping in his hand. Dropping his head for a second, Bakura kissed one, and then the other. He wondered if Malik’s face was red as his felt; if it wasn’t and that gasp that was released was the only indication, he was certain that it would be with his next move.

Once again, his head dipped. Lower. He did not consider his action an instant regret, not with the excited and positive reaction of Malik, as fingers tangled into his white hair pressing his head lower. Yet, he did regret not taking in a deeper breath, as he recognized he would be fighting against both the lack of air and his gag reflex. He tried to relax as Malik ushered his face closer, but with every gagging swallow, he recognized it would not be such an easy task. He was able to stand it for a few seconds—which felt like minutes—before tugging away, gasping and fighting against his roiling stomach.

“You okay?” Malik asked, his voice clouded with desire.

Bakura nodded. “Gimme a second,” he managed after taking a few deep breaths. He continued to pleasure Malik with his hand as he built himself up to attempt again. Malik, coming out of his daze, began to look worried for him, but his facial expression changed once again as Bakura took him deep into his throat.

Eventually the pacing became something that the both could manage, and Bakura learned swiftly what made Malik grip at the sheets so hard they squeaked as they rubbed against each other. Even in his position, Bakura could not help an uncharacteristic smirk, pleased with himself as much as pleased in pleasuring his love. He had managed to find himself on both of his knees, working himself to completion as he toyed with the tip of Malik in his mouth, stroking the length of him. First, teasing his skin with his fingertips; then allowing Malik to thrust into his hand and mouth. It was nothing like he imagined, but somehow it was more fascinating. The texture was unique, the flavor a bit salty.

Bakura’s looked up coyly at Malik, who’s heat was tilted back, mouth open and moaning shamelessly in ecstasy. He was also reaching a point where his legs were primed to shudder against his own will and he was about to back away to let Malik finish in his hand…

…when his phone rang.

It had only been a second; a second enough for him to pause in confusion. A second enough that Malik finished before looking up, bewildered. Bakura’s eyes widened as he felt something viscous enter his mouth, salty and unexpected. There was another taste he could not place but it was gone before he recognized it. In alarm and in an attempt to answer the phone, he had done the only thing that had come to mind. Fighting another urge to vomit, he snatched up his phone and saw a number that shocked him on two levels. That it had happened now, and that it had happened at all.

“Dad?” he answered, his voice a little hoarse. He tried to clear his throat as he listened to his father while ignoring the ache that he felt in a lower extremity. He shifted off his knees and sat on the edge of the bed, his face now hot with embarrassment and thankfulness that it was a phone call and not a surprise return.

Malik rose on his elbows, now perturbed. It was clear he did not appreciate the interruption. Sitting up and leaning over, he wrapped his arms around Bakura’s waist as he impatiently waited for the conversation to end.

“How are you doing?” The cheerful reply echoed through the phone, and Bakura covered his face with one of his hands in disbelief.

“Well,” he replied, silently wishing that he had picked any time but now to call. “You?”

“Is your friend having fun? Are you being a good host?”

He could have laughed. “I’d like to think so. Yes, we are having fun. It’s sort of late, Dad. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to tell you that I was going to be home a little earlier than I thought. I’ll be seeing you in a couple days! Don’t worry, I can use the couch. But I wanted you to know.”

“That’s great, Dad!” It was the truth. He was excited to see his father, even if it would put a damper on the physical aspects of his budding relationship. “I don’t think he’d want to put you out though. I could always give him my bed, or he could bunk with me.” A pang of guilt hit him, but he shoved it down. There was no reason to be ashamed; it was just the omission that bothered him.

“We’ll discuss the particulars when I get home,” his father said, and Bakura could almost envision his father waving the discussion away as he moved to a different topic. “I know it’s late, but I had just wanted to share with you the good news…”

They talked for a little longer, his father going on about a good deal on sharing a new display between museums, and how it offered him a chance to return home. Bakura listened, both in interest and as an attempt to be polite. He could feel the weight of an agitated Malik upon his shoulder. In what felt like hours, his father finally said goodbye, wishing he and his friend a good night. Bakura replied with the same wishes and hung up a bit conflicted. He realized that he would want to be clear about his relationship the more it went on. Why shouldn’t he wish to be honest with his father, especially with good news for once.

“Jerk’s coming home, then?” Malik inquired, irritation apparent.

Bakura frowned. “He is my father. I am excited he’s coming home.”

“Yeah, well I’m not great with people who like to ignore others when it suits them.”

Brown eyes narrowed. “You better not be implying—”

“I’m implying nothing. He’s just an asshole, and I want to spend time with you. Kinda ruined the moment, you know?”

“Nothing’s ruined unless we say it is,” Bakura said, caressing Malik’s cheek. “How was it?”

Malik paused, tapping his chin in thought. “I dunno…how did I taste?”

Bakura snickered. “Taste yourself. I’m not saying. It wasn’t intentional.”

“It happened, though. So?”

“Nothing like I’ve ever read.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve ever eaten oyster? Think that…but kind of runnier?”

“Oh…gross.”

They both laughed at that before lying back on the bed, hands intertwined. Bakura felt at such peace. The bitter thoughts and loneliness that he usually felt after speaking to his father were at the edges of his mind, fading even as they sat there in the quiet. There were distant beeps of car horns that punctuated the passage of time, and Bakura would have assumed that the other had fallen asleep if not for Malik’s sudden shift. He placed a knee between Bakura’s legs, spreading them slightly, with the most curious and hungry look upon his face. Bakura was not sure where to keep his eye at.

“You don’t have to,” Bakura murmured. He reached up and ran his thumb against Malik’s lips. He was glad for even this, that he could feel him, rather than imagine.

“I want to,” Malik said, his fingers playing on Bakura’s chest. For an instant the one still reclined felt self-conscious. The instant left when Malik kissed him. It was deep and loving; and one that showed he completely forgot what had just been in Bakura’s mouth. And yet, there was hardly any reaction.

“We haven’t exactly…gotten ready for this?” Bakura pointed out. “I don’t want it to be…bad.”

“Bad.”

His face flushed red. “Don’t make me say it. You know what I mean.”

Malik leaned back to where his bag sat and pulled out a box of condoms Bakura could only stare in shock at. “I’ve got lube, too. I know what you mean though. But maybe…we can try something a little less…largely…invasive first? Just to see which of us likes it.”

Bakura could only nod his head as he swallowed. Full of nerves and excitement, he dared not even ask where Malik had gotten them, or when he had decided he wanted to go that far. Knowing that Malik, flaccid as he was, would not be the main focus, Bakura spread his legs further, wondering if his face would just remain permanently red after this moment.

Malik grinned, and kissed his cheeks. “I’ll go slow. Remember, I don’t want to hurt you.

“I trust you,” Bakura managed to say, before succumbing to the touch of Malik’s grip on him.

Malik was rough with his affections, but with a minor shift of Bakura’s hips and brief directions groaned into his ear, he found a rhythm that made Bakura’s eyes roll back and his toes curl. Malik used his thumb to press into the dip between the bone and soft flesh below his waist and Bakura bucked his hips instinctively. He gasped soundly, reaching for Malik, who pressed his lips to the raised curve of Bakura’s collarbone. With his tongue, warm and slick, he licked up along Bakura’s neck, back to his ear. For a moment, Bakura felt Malik pull away, and was about to protest when Malik pressed his lips back onto his own, his hand slick with lubrication.

Bakura fought against the moan that he held at the back of his throat, failing as Malik slid one prepped finger into him. It was a jarring sensation that had him also release a grunt of surprise. Everything seemed twice as sensitive while he also struggled with feeling anything else but this invasion. His covers were too rough, the air in his lungs not enough. He fought the urge to kick Malik away, and tried to calm down. He followed Malik’s motions in reverse, allowing him deeper within him, seeing if he continued that he might become acclimated. 

Surprisingly, when Malik shifted to make his own actions more comfortable for himself, Bakura felt a sort of comfort in how he embraced him. He relaxed, closing his eyes, and let himself simply listen to what his body wanted. It was then that he found he rather enjoyed the sensation. Perhaps it was the fact that Malik had also added more lubricant. He wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. Rocking against Malik’s fingers and pressing into his other palm, Bakura quickly came to his release. A loud cry escaped his lips and he shuddered against Malik’s chest, his face pressed into it to silence his exclamation.

Once again, a hush came over the room. Clean up required little talk, as did the question of whether or not they wished to be near each other after this act. When Bakura pulled the covers up, he dragged Malik under them, pressing his face into the blonde hair of the other. The scent of his hair, his body, brought him comfort and a yearning he would not be able to attend to for a while. Bakura felt a euphoric exhaustion take over him, and as he held Malik close—the other holding onto him almost desperately—he fell happily into the depths of his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, if you think I need to change the rating, please tell me. It's far from over, but I have never been good with rating my own work. Maybe I'm being too harsh? Or not harsh enough? I don't know.
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everything is smooth sailing.

Malik awoke with a scream. The darkness around him seemed stifling; he pushed away the invisible assailant but struggled against the confines of some indescribable barrier that pressed against him, forcing him to remain there. The remnants of his dream, of the gore that burned itself into his mind’s eye, followed him, inching closer, threatening to bring him to the brink. To the darkness that hid at the edges of his being. He struggled and beat at what held him in this void when suddenly he was embraced. Not by the invisible thing holding him back…

But by a pair of slender arms.

These arms tugged his head to a chest whose heart still beat. Whose chest rose and fell with each measured breath. Malik pressed his face against this chest and sobbed, wrapping his own arms around his beloved, clinging to the warmth and solidity that he provided. There would be no judgment there; it wasn’t in his nature.

Bakura held Malik close, kissing the top of his head in a sleepy daze. He had been awoken by a sudden thrashing, jolted from his sleep as he was smacked in the face by a wayward fist. At first, agitation had filled him; for once he had been peacefully asleep. This changed when he heard fearful groans and a repetition of a word that he assumed was something in the negative. Why else would a voice usually so assured rise in pitch and tremble with panic? Instinctively, he had reached for the flailing Malik, and attempted to comfort him in the only way he could think. He held him there and let him cry; no questions, no panic. He simply rubbed at the shuddering back and repeated that all was alright. That everything was fine. That he was safe.

It took some time, but slowly the quivering shoulders stopped. Bakura’s chest, wet with tears felt a chill when Malik backed away, shame apparent in his expression. Ignoring this, Bakura pressed both palms against the sides of Malik’s face and used his thumbs to wipe away at tears that still streaked the other’s defined features. He did not think he had ever seen the person before him seem so vulnerable. It broke his heart to see the despairing look in his eyes. Whatever he had dreamed of had not left him.

“Sorry,” Malik apologized, his voice cracking against a suppressed sob. He tried to push away, but Bakura held onto him still. Lips pressed against each dampened cheek. Then a forehead clammy with sweat. The calming presence continued with the tip of the nose, and then the other’s mouth as Bakura tried to convey to Malik that what he needed was available. He was there.

“It’s fine,” Bakura said, his voice soft and soothing. “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Malik weakly agreed, surrendering to Bakura’s renewed embrace. Internally, he hated this instance of weakness, but was appreciative that he lay beside someone who understood.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bakura offered, feeling that the initial panic was over. “Sometimes it’s just nice to talk it out or write it out. Puts things into perspective.”

“It’s nothing,” Malik replied, balking. Even in the dim of the room, it was obvious he was trying to look away. “Just a bad dream.”

Bakura nodded. Malik had not struck him as the reflective type. “If you change your mind, I’m here.”

“Thanks.” His reply was quiet, near inaudible, but there nonetheless. Sleep returned easily enough to the pair after that ordeal.

Tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his rice bowl, Malik sighed audibly from his seat at the kitchen table. Bakura cocked his head at him from across the way, partially aggravated at Malik’s half-assed impromptu drum solo on his dishes; but mostly concerned. Malik’s expression worried him. It was serious and fatalistic; not something someone wants to see after such a night as they had.

“I dreamt…” Ah, that’s what it was. Bakura relaxed his shoulders but remained attentive. “I dreamt about my father. And my other half.”

“I’m sorry that is something that is still bothering you,” Bakura consoled.

Malik snorted, pushing his chair to where he rested on the back two legs. It seemed that had not been the correct response. “You weren’t the one who did it. No reason to be sorry.”

Bakura’s face softened. “I can still feel for you on that, can’t I?”

“Don’t think that it needs an apology, though.”

“Fine. I wish that this pain and guilt and fear you still have pass soon.”

Wrinkling his nose at this, Malik stared hard into his rice, as if there was something fascinating amongst the grainy lumps. “You don’t have these kinds of dreams?”

“My dreams are irrelevant right now. We are talking about how you feel.”

“How I feel? I feel like punching something. That part of my life is over. Over. Over!” He stood suddenly and forcefully, the table squealing against the linoleum as it jerked. Bakura felt his chair nearly topple from under him as he was pushed back with it. 

Gripping the table for balance, he regained focus on Malik, who was now pacing the room. Something with in Bakura shook in fear, and part of him wanted to shrink away. Yet, he knew this was something that would have come up eventually. He knew Malik needed to talk about it. He just didn’t know what he needed to do. Bakura hardly felt capable of tending to his own insecurities; he wondered what he could even try to do for Malik’s. He opened his mouth to reproach the other for his use of force but closed it as Malik began to speak. He’d bring it up later.

“I hate that I did that! That I…I killed…But I hate that I feel any of this! Sure, it wasn’t Yugi’s fault, or the Pharaoh’s, but someone made it so our lives were hell. Made it hell just long enough for me to lose my goddamn mind—”

“You didn’t lose it—”

“And drag everyone that I cared about and ever was to care about into bullshit.” He clung to his head, his shoulders shaking as they had the night before. “I’m so scared. I’m so fucking scared that somewhere back in the worst memories, there’s still a chance that he’s there. He wasn’t some spirit that was banished. He was a part of me. A part of who I was. And he was awful. And he was there.”

Bakura rose to his feet as Malik turned to him, his eyes wet with new tears. Bakura’s own watered with compassion and empathy. They stood there, the feeling of a great distance between them. Bakura tentatively reached out to Malik, initially receiving no response.

“He’s not there anymore, right?”

“He was me. There’s always that chance. It’s not like it was for you. He could still be there!”

Hurt flooded Bakura’s countenance. As if his position was so easy. Still, he attempted to remain silent for Malik to finish what he had to say. He only hoped that the other would listen when it was his turn.

“I’m so afraid that I’m going to hurt you one day,” Malik confessed. “Maybe by my own hands, maybe by my past mistakes. I never thought that I could feel like this, this guilt, this…this love, for anyone. I don’t want to fuck it up. God…s…I just…I don’t want to fuck it up…”

“You are you,” Bakura said, “and I’m not some stupid idiot who pretends not to see when I’m getting into a possibly bad situation. I knew early on that getting involved with you might put me in danger.”

Malik raised his head up, aghast. “So why?”

“Why what?”

“If you know that, then why?” Malik cried out, his breathing becoming erratic. “Why are you with me?”

“You’re asking me, now, why I want to be with you?”

“Yes. What’s the point if you know this can end badly?”

Bafflement filled Bakura’s voice. “Are you serious?” He shook his head in disbelief. “Are you serious?” he repeated.

Morning light filtered through the clean glass of the apartment, glittering against the tears on both of their cheeks. When either’s tears had begun to fall was anyone’s guess, but they were the clearest expressions of anguish and rage in the room. Malik’s eyes widened as Bakura’s features contorted in fury. It was not the expression he expected.

“Why are you so…” Malik couldn’t even complete his sentence, his confusion so consuming.

“‘So’ what?” Bakura inquired, his voice quiet and filled with a chill that matched his visage. “Tell me, Malik-kun, do I look like an idiot?”

“No.”

“Do I look like someone who is a shallow thinker?”

“No.”

“Do I look like some vapid, easily used individual, that doesn’t have a mind of his own?”

There was a pause, brief, but telling. Within that pause Bakura began forgiving, considering their past. It still didn’t cool the heated and bitter waves of disappointment in the other that had been brought up.

“No,” Malik finally said. His voice was low, his head bowed. “But I don’t get why. Why would anyone knowingly put themselves in a situation like this?”

“Maybe it isn’t the same,” Bakura stated, trying to keep logical. Trying to bite back accusations. None of that would help. It would only make the situation worse. “But we’ve been through similar things. We’ve been through some of it together. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

“And I messed up a lot in your life.”

“Yeah, but you’ve apologized. None of that changes how I can feel about you. If I always thought about the people I’ve hurt, I’d get nowhere.”

“You?” Malik scoffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “When have you done anything wrong?”

“I’m not perfect. I’m just as culpable of his actions as he was. It was my body that he was using, after all.”

“You aren’t at fault for that. It’s not the same.”

“Well I’m glad that’s how you see it.” Bitterness and a hopelessness he had though gone was coming back in full force. Bakura tried not to put it all on Malik, but his hope that someone who cared for him could help him stop feeling this guilt and self-hatred was fading fast. Being told he’d had no say in the matter of what occurred when his body was not in control somehow felt worse than being blamed for the comas and disappearances he had been told occurred.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s funny how you feel like you should blame yourself about something you did when you were younger and under a lot of stress. I mean, kudos to you for understanding you did have some choice there but tell me that I…never mind.”

“No, say it if you’re going to say it.”

“None of this makes any sense!” Bakura shouted, startling Malik. “We had such a good time last night, why would you think that now, of all times, that your past would stop me from caring about you? How dare you ask me why I want to be with you! Like I can’t see who you are, some amazing person who keeps trying to do the right thing even after all they’ve done!”

“I…”

“If you don’t want to ‘fuck it up’, as you so eloquently put it, then stop acting like an ass and shoving my shit around!”

“Sorry, I—” Malik said, scratching his head, confused as to where this was going.

“If you’re so concerned about what I think of you,” Bakura interrupted, jabbing a finger at Malik’s chest. “Do your laundry. Make the bed. I don’t want anything big from you.” He paused, and instead of prodding him with his finger, he let his head fall against Malik’s chest. Saying these things had taken the fight out of him. “I accept you for who you are, for what you were, and I’ll be by your side as you fix your mistakes and become the person you want to be. All I ask for is that someone does the same for me. I just want someone around that likes me. That loves me.”

“Just stay by my side,” Bakura begged, now clinging to Malik’s shirt. “Don’t leave me.”

As Bakura clung to him, now unabashedly weeping from his own insecurities, Malik shook his head, his own tears drying as a wry smile spread across his face.

“We’re just two hot messes, aren’t we?” Malik reflected. “What the fuck are we even doing?”

Bakura only shook his head. He couldn’t catch his breath long enough to form words.

“Come on.” Malik took hold of Bakura’s chin and tilted his head upward. They stood there, both emotionally exhausted, watching for the other’s reaction. Bakura sniffled, his eyes rimmed red. Malik carried bags under his own from the night before. “I don’t want to waste our time here together arguing anymore. I get it. You’ve got my back. I’ve got yours. Let’s leave it at that.”

“No.”

“No?” With an eyebrow raised, Malik searched Bakura’s face for any reason as to why he would refuse to let this go.

“No,” Bakura repeated. “I want to end it with something else.”

“What?”

Bakura took in a deep breath and tried to wipe his nose discreetly while searching for a napkin. Malik laughed and with a quick reach over the nearby counter, snatched a paper towel from the roll and offered it to him. Bakura muttered a thank you and quickly blew his nose. It took some time for him to right his face, as he continued to try and calm down.

“I’m sorry, was that it?” Malik asked, mimicking Bakura’s last few actions.

“No, and you know it,” Bakura said. He took in another deep breath before looking Malik in the eye, his fists slightly clenched. Malik prepared himself for something of great import; of something possibly negative that would resume their nonsensical argument.

“I love you.”

The proclamation caught Malik off-guard. He swayed on his feet and was glad that he had slippers on that clung to the fibers of the carpet. If not, he might have found himself on the ground, stunned. As it was, he barely grabbed hold of the counter and could hardly form his own response.

“Really?” It was full of hope.

Bakura’s beaming face was brighter than the daylight that continued to filter through the window. It was all Malik needed. How could he question such a face? How could he question such devotion when reflecting on all their time together?

“I love you, too.”

Soon they were hugging again, rocking back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. Their kisses, tender and long, denoted the passage of time in the only way the couple cared to know. Long enough that Malik’s neck felt sore from leaning down to match his lips to Bakura’s, but to him, it was a poor reason to end their connection. Lost in each other’s embrace, the TV show in the background became white noise, the clock muted, the strange scratching sound at the front door completely ignored.

Bakura did pull away first, needing a moment to catch his breath. His face flushed, his eyes sparkling with adoration, he giggled at Malik’s imploring face to continue. 

“Is this not enough for you?” he murmured, his lips tickling the other’s. For this, he received a kiss deeper than all of the others. He graciously received Malik’s tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it gently before returning the intensity toward the taller participant. In a demanding gesture, Bakura grabbed at Malik’s ass and pressed against him. If Malik wished for it, Bakura was ready. That was not to say he wouldn’t offer his own brand of teasing, however. “It took you long enough to say it, by the way.”

“Hey,” Malik said, placing a finger up to make his point. “I was going to say it a long time ago.”

“What stopped you?”

“You hung up on me.”

Bakura blinked. “What?”

“Yeah, it was when I called you during—”

“Surprise!” A cry from the entryway of the apartment broke into their conversation. Bakura jumped in alarm and was suddenly at Malik’s mercy due to the other’s hold on him. It had been Malik’s initial response: to spin Bakura away from the sound of the voice, and to grab a nearby utensil to use as a weapon. The individual at the door offered a surprised look, which Bakura mirrored in near perfection, as they were faced with a ladle being pointed at them from across the room. Bakura collected himself enough to call out a response to the newcomer.

“Dad?”

This really was a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up. I'm going to try to get the next chapter out next Friday, but I haven't had much time this week, or these upcoming weeks to actually touch anything creative ;.;
> 
> I just want you guys to be aware, the story will still be completed soon, but...there might be some severe two week delay. I'll try to keep it to a one week, but no promises as of yet.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! Don't be afraid to leave me a comment, constructive criticism and conversation is always welcome.


	9. Chapter 9

Bakura’s father stood at the doorway, exhaustion apparent, but the astonishment on his face was what truly struck the pair. He seemed cemented in place as they remained in their position, Bakura failing to realize he still was holding on to Malik (his hands had shifted upward to his lower back, but the position was curious enough to the older man). With a brief motion, his father readjusted his glasses and placed his bag on the ground. Malik let the ladle drop from its position, mostly because he had recognized it as a futile instrument of death.

“Ah, so this is your friend?” Bakura’s father asked, clearing his throat. He was a tall man, and shared some similarities with Bakura, such as the choice in hair length, and general stance, but Malik noted that Bakura had a softer way about him. His nose was not shared with the man, nor the eye shape. They did share a similar cheekbone structure, but once again, Bakura had fuller cheeks to moderate the angles. He had never thought of it before, but perhaps Bakura took on more of his mother’s features. Malik realized he had never seen a picture of her or one of the beloved sister, Amane. He would have to rectify that later, although, he did find it odd that nothing of that nature had been shared with him so far.

“Uh, yeah,” Bakura replied, grateful that this was the way they had been seen, and not with Bakura on his knees like the night before. “Malik-kun, this is my father. Dad, this is Malik Ishtar.”

The two being introduced eyed each other cautiously from across the room. His father, obviously wondering why his son was being held away from him; Malik, for his overt and immediate dislike of the man. Bakura wiggled out of Malik’s hold, smoothing his pale hair back behind his shoulders and approached the space between them, an unintentional referee.

“Uh,” Bakura piped, realizing the situation could go an unpleasant way fast—especially if he was reading Malik’s face correctly. “You’ve met his sister. Isis Ishtar. She was the one who you contacted about those tablets you had up a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Bakura’s father said, a hesitant smile returning to his face. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet her sibling, then. She didn’t mention you, I don’t think.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d be too memorable,” Malik said, attempting to keep the sarcasm down as he noted Bakura’s pleading look. He offered his hand in greeting. To Bakura, it was obvious that it was forced. “Nice to meet you. Sorry. I don’t like being surprised. I get jumpy.”

“No harm done, but it does explain the reaction, I guess,” Bakura’s father chuckled, taking his hand and shaking it.

“I hope your travels are treating you well,” Malik added, taking on a more amicable tone.

“Ah, yes. Thank you. I hope you are faring well, as well,” the older man reciprocated. “I’m sure my son has mentioned I am rather busy, but I am sorry for not being a proper host.”

Malik grinned, and waved at the idea. “Don’t worry about it, he’s been the best host I’ve ever seen.”

“Ha ha,” Bakura interjected. He grabbed his father’s bag, taking it to the unused room where Malik was supposed to be staying. “Dad, you said you’d be back in a couple of days. Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” his father replied. “I just wanted it to be a little bit of a surprise, that’s all.”

“I feel bad,” Bakura called back. “I wanted to have everything nice and ready for you for when you got back.”

“Don’t worry about it,” his father stated just as Malik added—

“Dude, you’re such a neat freak. This apartment can’t get any cleaner!”

After this new addition to the apartment, the day took on a strange turn. Malik found in those first few moments that it was far harder to communicate with Bakura’s father than originally assumed. He felt he was being particularly magnanimous considering he could not stand how the man seemed to ignore his son even at home—yet he felt as if he was blocked from even attempting to connect with the way the man focused on his laptop, the light glinting on his glasses. This distaste was only exacerbated by the way Bakura seemed content to bend over backwards for his father. Such an undeserved display of effort vexed the him, and he was only further annoyed when the man turned to him and asked him how his schooling was doing. As if it was his duty to provide some insight to how school should be.

“He’s homeschooled,” Bakura said, trying to be helpful. Every gesture of his pleaded for Malik to keep his calm. He didn’t need something to read minds to see that Malik was at the very edge of his patience. “Why” was irrelevant to Bakura—they had just come out of an argument. The last thing he wanted was to start another, especially when his father was finally home. “He’s been doing extra work since coming here so he can finish early.”

“Do you have any plans for your future?”  
‘Yeah, not being near obnoxious, prying idiots who can’t even directly look at their kids lest they melt where they stand,’ he thought to himself. Outwardly he simply stated, “I’m leaving my options open. Your son, on the other hand, has a plan, I’m sure. He’s really organized like that.”

“Don’t worry about Malik-kun, Dad. He’s really smart. I’m sure he could get into anything he wanted to.”

After an uncomfortable chortle at his son’s interruption, the man returned to his work, and Malik somehow felt bullied into working on the homework he had been neglecting. Both found themselves across from each other in the kitchen, Bakura’s father typing away as Malik scribbled down the answers of some asinine math problem. A cursory glance reminded him he had many more problems to go. Malik sighed into his hands, rubbing his face to ignore the amount for the moment. He knew the formulas; it was just tedious.

“I remember thinking that was torture,” Bakura’s father noted, pointing at the assignment, and Malik couldn’t help but chuckle.

“It isn’t?” He asked.

“I’m not a teacher, so I wouldn’t know. I suppose you’d need to ask your sister…she’s the one who’s monitoring your progress, right?”

“My older brother is. Although, my sister pretty much assigns all of it.”

“I didn’t know that you had a brother. So, there are three of you?” The man paused, as if weighing whether the next question or not was appropriate. He seemed to think so, as he asked it. “What of your parents?”

“Dead.”

An earnest expression of sadness spread across his face. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah…It’s a little complicated, but thanks.”

They spoke of a few other minor topics, not going too deep into each other’s pasts, much to Malik’s relief. Yet, by the time he was done with his math assignment, moving onto history, he found that once he got past the awkward exterior, Bakura’s father seemed normal, almost friendly. If only he could act this way with his own son—the thought ran through Malik’s mind as he found that he was joking with the man about some inaccuracy in his textbook. Maybe he would actually like him more if that was a thing.

He caught Bakura’s attention a little later as he was carrying a basket of laundry to be done and was shocked to see the little glint in his eye and conspiratorial smirk upon his face. Malik gaped at him. The bastard had done this on purpose.

Dinner that night was less strained, but it was clear from the body language of the two relatives that they were just awkward around each other. Painfully so.

Malik chewed his rice, contemplating the silence. Observing the happy little smile that Bakura got when his father ate two servings of what was a meal made of the teens’ joint efforts. Noting the faraway look that the older man got when he watched his son in the brief moment that Bakura looked away. Even with his own dysfunctional family, this sort of display seemed odd. Usually he and Isis would argue about something, Rishid would butt in and play moderator, and he would then apologize to his sister (as he was usually in the wrong). Or Isis would step in if Malik was becoming too bossy with Rishid, a bad habit still sticking to him like the remnant of smeared sucker on a child’s hand. Or during dinners like this, Malik would crack a joke and get the whole table laughing. For all of the death threats and hatred that had torn them apart over the years, they were together now, a stronger family for their attempts at making it work.

 

The knowledge that Bakura had little face-to-face contact with his father and his own admission he wished for more attention only made Malik more confused after he watched Bakura make another failed attempt to start discussion with the man. His eyes pleaded for the man to look up, his mouth opened, a word hovering upon his lips, before closing it silently and retreated to his bowl of miso soup. Certainly, even Bakura—ever so patient as he was—was tired of this silence. Was angry. Was filled with some emotion.  
Malik grimaced at the situation and shoved more of the delicious food into his mouth to cut himself off. He had made the day difficult enough early on. The least he could do was keep his mouth shut just a little longer. He doubted Bakura’s father intended on staying much longer.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

The statement, so calm and clear, cut through the hush that had consumed the room for a good ten minutes. Malik’s bowl clattered to the table, his fingers slackened in his shock. Bakura’s father somehow looked paler in the light than his son at that moment, and he had a tan. The only one who looked calm in that instant was Bakura himself, a small smile on his face, as if some great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Had that been what had kept him silent?

“Is that so?” It was an abrupt shift. Eyes that had once been distant but friendly now scrutinized Malik, and the teen found that he could not push away a daring stare right back.

“It’s been a long-distance relationship. I had wanted to tell you sooner, but you’ve been so busy I figured that I could save the details for when you came home. So, I might have glossed over that.”

“Can I ask why you’re staring at me like that?” Malik interjected, ready to posture, to hover over the man at any moment with all the command he had held as the leader of the Ghouls. Many far older than the teen had cowered under such a look.

“I knew something was different…” the man said, turning his attention to his son. “Is that why you didn’t ask me if I’d gone to say hello?”

“Hello?” Malik scratched his head in confusion. Bakura remained silent, his expression tinged with shame.

“Ryou-chan, is this why you’ve seemed so happy today?”

Malik felt as if he were living in a different dimension. Happy? How would he have noticed? He had been working on whatever project he had been working on for most of the day. The one he had held a conversation with was Malik, not Bakura…

“I guess so…” Bakura’s reply was so quiet Malik had almost missed it in his confused analysis of the day’s activities.

At that admission, the mood shifted abruptly. What had been a somewhat uncomfortable dinner was now very uncomfortable for Malik…but somehow also managed to be a surprisingly positive shift for the room as a whole. He was now the focus, nothing terrible about that, but he had to dodge many uncomfortable questions. Just because Bakura’s father was being pleasant about the situation did not mean he needed to hear that their first encounter had been when he was being possessed and offered up for brainwashing. Even thinking about it made Malik feel sick; for now, he cared deeply for the one he so easily watched be wounded.

Their own confusion at the older man’s acceptance was greeted with amusement. According to him, for all the places he had been to and seen, the one thing he was least concerned about was two people of similar ages finding love in one another. He seemed embarrassed for Bakura when the teen burst into tears after hearing this. Apparently, there had been worries that he had been keeping even from Malik. Never once had the blonde worried about what anyone here thought about their relationship. He supposed it was a different experience for Bakura.

That did not mean Bakura’s father turned a blind eye to the situation, however. It was true that he would not be there for long, but new rules were implemented much to the chagrin of both teens. Yet, even that could not take away from the joyous mood that filtered through the once sterile apartment.

“Can I ruin a good moment?” Malik asked later that night, fluffing the pillow he was using with unnecessary force. Better to take out his frustration in silence.

“Only if you stop destroying my bedding,” Bakura replied, propping his door open with a chair. He gave the crack it created an exasperated look before turning back to Malik, who switched to pummeling the pillow with less force. “I think it’s as shaped as it’s going to get, Malik-kun. Any more effort, and you might be sleeping on its filling.”

“This is dumb.”

“I’m aware.”

“He’s gotta know we’ve done stuff already.”

“Probably why he’s choosing this route, to make sure it doesn’t go further.”

“We’re old enough. He is aware, right?”

Bakura shrugged. “He’s a dad. And he’s probably not even aware of how much I’ve looked into it.”

Malik’s eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

A frown formed upon Bakura’s lips. “Don’t be stupid.” Yet, even as he sat beside Malik, there was definite disappointment on his face. “Anyway, the last thing I want is for him to hear us doing that. Maybe this is for the best.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Bakura sighed in exasperation. “Was this the moment ruining statement?” he asked, resting his head against Malik’s shoulder.

“No,” Malik said, pulling Bakura closer to him. Arms wrapped around his waist and soon they needed no blanket for warmth. Each found the other a more suitable replacement; Malik burrowed his face in Bakura’s hair while Bakura nuzzled at the crook of Malik’s neck, feeling his heartbeat quicken.

“Do you really want to ruin anything?”

“Only because I’m a curious bastard.”

“Well then, ruin it.”

Malik scanned the room. At night, the walls were enshrouded in shadow, as bland as they had been when they had spoken long distance. Books were lined on a nearby bookshelf, but aside from a few figurines, nothing more than that. The desk was the most cluttered furniture, but even then, it was neat in Malik’s mind. Finally, he spoke.

“You talk about her a lot, but I’ve never seen a picture of Amane, or your mom.”

The mood of the room indeed shifted. He could almost feel Bakura’s eyes darting to the door. His muscles tensed. Once a pliable individual easy to cuddle, now it was as if a heavy stone had been placed on top of Malik. Was this reaction out of nerves? Or did he want to run?

 

It was neither. Bakura did stand, but his direction was closet-wise, not to the cracked door where the darkness loomed, conspiring to overtake the little light that was left. Malik involuntarily shivered. The light from the lamp had seemed brighter when Bakura had been beside him, the chill of the night not so prevalent. He felt stupid thinking this way; the teen’s lithe frame was standing just a few feet away, reaching for something packed away. It wasn’t as if Malik was alone. Alone, this apartment would be desolate in warmth, with the night threatening to consume everything. Living in the tomb like he had, Malik wanted nothing more than bright lights and all the trappings that made home “home”. Here, where there were rare visitors and bare walls that left the mind to wander on the past, he wondered how the other could stand it.

“I never showed you because I didn’t want to bother you with it. It’s enough that I talk about them so much. To you.” His poignant look was not lost on Malik. Bakura still had never mentioned his family in public, aside from his father. At least, not while Malik was there, and that was all he had to go on. If that were the case, then that would mean this part of his heart had been solely entrusted to the hands that now held an old photo album, well-cared for, but still weathered from time.  
As Malik flipped through the protective pages, he realized he would have nothing like this to share with Bakura. All he had were tales that could only be backed by Rishid or Isis, and only that if they weren’t intent on messing with him. A brief pang of disappointment filled him, but it quickly left as he saw what he had been looking for. His observations had been correct, but it was also sweet to see the boy that this young man had been. To see how he held his sister close. To see snippets of the life he lived before the ring came into it. Before tragedy befell the kind but troubled eyes that watched him as he went from page to page. Bakura continued.

“Of course, you know I’m interested in things like the occult, and all of the stuff that people find spooky in general. I love the unknown. To see how people, deal with death and the supernatural; each story paints a different picture but there are so many similar themes. I think I get that from my dad. I think Amane would have been better at asking deeper questions, though. She was the one who usually questioned stuff out loud. I more or less mutter to myself.” He paused before letting out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Ever since the accident I’ve been trying to focus on those I care about that are alive. It’s what my doctor told me to do, when I was still going to one.”

“You went to a doctor?”

“I was a kid who lost the two family members I was closest to; there was no denying that, and my dad never did. My dad thought going to one would help, though. The doctor was the one who suggested that I write to sort out my feelings. So…” he fiddled with his fingers as he confessed, “I modified it. I started writing letters to my sister. Just in case she could read them, or ‘hear’ me as I wrote them. I like to think that she can see it, wherever she is. I started that because it felt like I could talk to someone again. My dad started getting a little distant around that time, but not as much as when the comas started happening. I stopped going to the doctor when I had to move because of that. I still remember how exasperated they were the last time I saw them. ‘You need to focus on the people who are alive, who care about you…you’ll never move on if you don’t.’”

“Some people find it easy I guess. But what do you do when the only one who isn’t getting sick couldn’t be around because of work…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, halting his tale. “I’m just repeating myself from last time. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

Malik nudged him with his foot. “Don’t be ridiculous. Isn’t this shit supposed to be what we talk about? Weren’t you just waiting to talk about it when the time was right?”

“There’s no point in complaining about it.”

“You aren’t complaining.” He set the album down and pulled Bakura back down beside him. He had been hovering awkwardly above him the whole time. “You and me, we get each other. Tell me.”

Bakura leaned into his embrace. The weight of his body, the warmth of his skin, the scent of his hair; this was a position he would enjoy being in more often. “I don’t want to bother you with something I should be over with.”

 

“Something you should…? Don’t be ridiculous. You cared about them. If you need a comparison to get you started, I’ll rehash something: I went on a revenge kick that lasted years, and my dad didn’t even treat me well. Then again, I think I was raging against the whole tomb-keeper concept and how it destroyed so many of our lives—" 

Bakura giggled at Malik’s expression as he tried to come up with a response to get the quieter of the two to speak more on the topic of his family. A graceful hand dragged the Egyptian’s head down, and Bakura kissed his furrowed brow. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured. “I don’t need a comparison.”

“You forgave me for controlling your mind…at least enough to start what we have going on here. What you want, but aren’t even asking for, is for someone to listen to you as you find a way to move on. Find some closure. That’s pretty normal in comparison.”

“I mentioned it to him once.”

“Him?” Malik inquired. When Bakura gave him a look, he understood. “Oh, that guy.”

“We might not have been as close as Yugi and his other half, but we spoke on rare occasions. Very rare. Our relationship was…complicated at best. I wanted a friend, and I ignored all of the signs that looking to him for help was a bad idea.”

“You’re a very forgiving person.”

“He used that to his advantage, of course. Since no one really warned me things weren’t quite right, I never thought too much on what he did. I just thought they were freaked out from the first time. If I had questions, he had a story for it. My exhaustion felt no different than normal, considering how I’d get bouts of depression.” He shook his head. “Ugh, I’m an idiot. If I had known the depths of what was going on…none of that would have ever happened.”

“In your defense…no one really kept you in the loop with that.”

“Yeah, and he did enough to make Yugi and I think he had changed just a little. Different times, of course. Not that it made any difference. But I told him about Amane because he was a spirit. Also, it wasn’t like I was hiding her existence in my mind. I’m sure he could tell what I was thinking, but I like to think it was a brief moment where we got along. I wanted to know if he could reach my sister, or if it even worked like that.”

“Did he ever say he could?”

“He said he would see what he could do. And then I started building for a campaign I would never play.” A sardonic smile spread across his face and he shrugged. In that instant one could almost recall what he had looked like when possessed. Either the spirit had not been as terrible at acting as Bakura (as Malik had assumed) or he had somehow picked up some of the other’s mannerisms. “I doubt he would have been able to do as I asked but there was no harm in trying. At least, that’s what I thought.” He sighed. “If there’s one thing I really wish I had closure on, that no one could really help me with, is to understand why he did all of that.”

“Why?”

“Why not? He took control of my body; I, above anyone else, should have known his reasoning.”

“For attempting to end the world? I mean, it sounds pretty cut and dry.”

The smile on Bakura’s face widened but took on an introspective air. Curiosity filled his eyes. “Sure, that’s what the end result was—but there’s always some deeper reason. He wasn’t some comic book villain.”

“Well this conversation went to a very different place than I expected it to,” Malik noted, blinking in surprise as he toyed with the other’s hair.

“Let me complain if you are going to say you’re letting me complain.”

Malik laughed as he was gently elbowed in the side. “Keep going, keep going.”

“Thank you. Now I’m going to make it awkward,” Bakura paused, taking Malik’s hand into his own. “I know this a bit rude of me, but I feel it is only fair, since you have made it clear you aren’t a fan of my father—”

“Remember, both our dads get asshole of the year awards.”

“Lower your voice,” Bakura snapped.

“Fine. I just don’t get why you’re so uppity about it, since you feel he hasn’t been around enough. And he’s making us do this for no damned reason.” He motioned to the cracked door and Bakura rolled his eyes.

“My dad…is my dad…this is just how he works.”

“Can he even hear us?”

“I don’t think so, but you keep getting louder so I don’t know—Don’t even think about it,” Bakura warned, watching the sly expression appear and disappear just as quickly on Malik’s face. Yet, Bakura’s features softened as he turned just enough in the position that they were in and cupped the other’s face in his hands. “In time, Malik-kun, in time. That’s not all it’s about anyway.”

Malik visibly pouted but instead of irritating Bakura it simply amused him. They spent the rest of that night laying in each other’s arms, listening to the sounds of summer in the city. The tapping of Bakura’s father working did not reach them, just as their words had not reached his ears. Earbuds were affixed to his ears; he was listening to some lecture.

Before they fell asleep Malik peered down at Bakura, who looked relaxed and comforted in the embrace they shared. Pale white bangs just hid his resting eyes, at least until Malik shifted them out of the way to get a better look at his dozing form. His face was so serene; it was an image Malik felt he was undeserving to see.

“You really are super forgiving,” he said to his sleepy counterpart, breaking silence once more that night.

“One might also say desperate,” Bakura replied jokingly with a yawn.

“Well, you said it, not me.”

“Go to sleep.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Doors?”

“Check.”

“Blinds?”

“Closed.”

“Phones?”

“…I think so?”

“For the love of all that is good, turn off your damn phone. Remember what happened last time?”

“Last time it was your phone!”

“Fine, we both check, and I’ll continue the list.”

“I still can’t believe we even need one.”

The conspiring pair pulled out their phones eyeing each other through their peripheral vision. Bakura didn’t bother to hide his smug expression as Malik frowned and turned his phone off. It was nice to be inarguably right sometimes, especially against one who always demanded that they were in the right. They were getting close now.

“Love how you’re turning red just thinking about the next thing,” Malik stated, poking one of Bakura’s cheeks. His blush deepened, and Malik snorted. “You act like you haven’t had my dick in your mouth.

“This is different.”

“Hey, I already said I’d take the first one for the team.”

“You are just so romantic, aren’t you, Malik-kun.”

“Ryou…just finish the list. I really don’t want to get distracted again.”

Distracted was a pleasant way to put it. Ever since Malik had visited last year, this had been something that hovered over their minds, clouding many of their thoughts at inopportune times. First, it had been Bakura’s father to put a damper on their physical relationship. Then it had been Isis; a concerned sister who finally had her younger brother back under her wing. After that, Rishid had something to say to his brother regarding possible ventures. At that point, even Bakura had become annoyed as to how many people were butting into their relationship, especially when neither of them had asked; they simply had just wanted to let others know they were serious about one another.

That was not to say they had listened to everyone. They might not have been able to try everything that their minds had concocted, but that wasn’t to say that they hadn’t taken what brief moments alone they had together to enjoy what foreplay they could partake in before being interrupted again. Somehow, it was even as if something else was watching them, just waiting to ruin a perfectly good moment. Malik cursed at the ceiling at one point: when both had been eagerly pressed together, hands clasped around one another in a pleasurable trance, and the doorbell to Bakura’s apartment had rang. A signal of a surprise visit from their friends.

And then, the inevitable. He had had to return home.

While they had both recognized that they were very physical individuals (at least with each other), Bakura had also mourned the fact that his greatest friend and confidant was leaving. Of course, they could talk online (and they did), but the nearness had made their conversations seem twice as personal. Also, it wasn’t like they could talk as much as they wanted to with each other every day. They both had things they were preparing for: Bakura intended on going to college, as did Malik—after some prodding by his sister to do more with himself. What he would be studying, Malik didn’t know. He just knew he wanted to be in charge of something.

This kept them apart for a while, and it was only just before they were both about to begin college, that Malik returned for a short stay. A short stay that neither divulged to either of their guardians. They were old enough, and it wasn’t like they were doing anything illegal.

A fact that Bakura had to repeat to himself as he had locked the door to his apartment, knowing his father should have been in another country at this point. He was pretty sure it had been more illegal to commandeer a room in the museum for a game between a pharaoh and his arch-nemeses. A fact that he now repeated to himself silently as he watched Malik’s pants slide to the floor, giving him an ample eyeful of a form he had been missing. He finished the list at whisper, distracted by muscles and curves. Resting his hands on Malik’s slim waist, he kissed along the line of where the band of his underwear had once sat, kissing lower as he felt Malik shudder under his soft caresses.

He had thought he had known how well-built Malik was before, but as his hands traveled back, gripping at a backside he could be jealous if it had not belonged to his love, he learned quickly at how a year could change what had once seemed familiar. He grinned before licking around the base of Malik’s cock, tugging him closer.

“Quit your fucking teasing,” Malik whined, his hands resting on Bakura’s shoulders for stability. “Are you going to start or not?”

“You’ve been working out,” Bakura murmured against Malik’s stomach before kissing at the abs he found there.

“Duh, what’s new?”

“Want to relax for me? I’m afraid you’re going to break my fingers.”

Malik stared down at him, unamused. “Maybe if I lie down, then?”

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to.”

Soon Bakura hovered over Malik, stroking him in one hand as he pressed one lubricated digit into him. With care and the finesse of one who pays close attention to detail, Bakura readied Malik with sweet words as he searched for the places within him that made him shudder in pleasure. When he balked at two fingers, Bakura’s mouth went to work. His tongue rolled along the tip of Malik’s cock before he plunged down at the behest of Malik’s commanding hand. He followed the pressure Malik enforced, matching each thrust of his fingers to each instant Malik filled his throat. His now free hand went to work on himself, and he moaned, only pulling away because he knew by the pace that Malik was becoming overstimulated. It was not time yet.

“Slow down,” Bakura crooned in Malik’s ear, biting at the lobe partially hidden by an earring. “You’re doing so well, just one more, just one more, and I’ll let you do whatever you want.”

“Fuck,” Malik groaned, now gripping at the sheets as Bakura prepped him with more lubricant. He gasped as Bakura carefully spread his fingers out inside of him and pressed his hips up, desiring more.

“Relax, Malik-kun, relax. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Just fuck me already,” Malik begged, using one of his legs to loop around Bakura’s kneeling form, pressing him forward and toward him.

Bakura slid his fingers out of Malik and prepared himself. He tried his best not to fumble or waste time, wanting this moment to go smoothly. He looked down at the form that was breathing heavily below him and grinned at the response he was responsible for. Usually so proud, Malik’s eyes implored him to continue. The trust there was something he should have expected but hadn’t. Love filled his heart as much as other parts of him lusted for the other, and as he entered him he planted a tender kiss against parted lips.

After a few tentative thrusts, Bakura found the rhythm to match the pace Malik was willing to keep up with. His hands traveled over a body scarred by destiny, unable to keep his hands to himself when Malik arched his back to take more of him in. Bakura panted and tried to keep up, unaccustomed to such sensations. He was sure Malik was feeling the same. His partner was crying out, unashamed, directing him with each moan as to how to hold him, where to aim, where to hold. Bakura did as instructed, wanting him to feel as good as he felt, but he restrained himself from being too loud. They were still in his apartment, and while the walls were not paper thin, it still gave him some anxiety as to who might hear and the awkward glances that might bring.

This did not stop him from grabbing a hold of Malik, stroking him as he thrusted. He did not want to be heard; he wanted to hear every sigh, every groan of pleasure that came from deep within the body below him. Which he received. With hands at Bakura’s hips, pressing him deeper within, Malik whispered things into his ear that the other could not understand, but did, at the same time. With breath hot against his cheek, Bakura shivered with pleasure as Malik moaned proclamations of love in two languages. His tongue traced the line of Bakura’s neck to its crook, where he took the time to leave a mark of their joining that would leave the other blushing for days to come. In the heat of the moment, Bakura leaned into the way Malik toyed at the sensitive area, letting him mark him as he pleased.

As their rhythm grew faster, the pressure within him mounted and he held Malik close as he allowed himself to let out a little cry as he came. Malik held him there as Bakura shuddered with the aftershock of his orgasm, a self-satisfied chuckle in his throat. He took that moment to bury his face in the other’s pale locks.

“Sorry,” Bakura mumbled, his face closer to Malik’s shoulder, partially shoved into the mattress.

“For what?” Came the breathless question.

“You didn’t…”

There was a snicker that reverberated through him as he lay atop his lover. “Yet,” Malik replied, once again close to Bakura’s ear. “I’ll give you a minute to get yourself together.”

“You’re going to…”

“I’m going to enjoy watching you walk around naked for a bit and get over the fact that I’m probably not going to sit comfortably for a little while.”

“I could just—”

Malik placed a finger against Bakura’s lips, silencing his protest. “I want to, and I don’t mind waiting. Now go clean up. I know how to keep myself interested.”

Bakura shuffled to his bathroom in a daze, half-exhausted and half-amazed at what transpired. He held his hands near his heart, feeling the heat of his love for Malik deep within his chest. Smiling, he cracked the door to the bathroom, the remnant of a habit that was beginning to fade. He only hoped he made the other feel the same.

That smile was still on his face, albeit also filled with a little concern, as he found himself beneath a very excited Malik. The length of Malik rested against his stomach and what had once seemed so familiar now felt imposing as Bakura realized what girth he would have to accommodate. Somehow, it being in his mouth had been less intimidating.

“Ready?” Malik purred, shifting Bakura into place. Bakura nodded, his heart racing in his chest. He felt the heat of his excitement and trepidation flow through him but took in a measured breath as he felt the familiar invasion of Malik’s fingers within him. This was familiar, and while Bakura had needed a moment to figure out the other’s wants, Malik was able to draw off memories. With skill, his fingers reached a point that made Bakura bite his lip to stop himself from letting out a cry he knew would have been heard. Instead the sound trapped itself in his throat, which Malik kissed with some amusement.

“So, I can sound like an idiot, but you don’t want to make any noise?” he teased, his free hand twisting at Bakura’s nipple playfully. Bakura hissed and feigned batting it away. He did not stop Malik when he went to bite it, however. His tongue swirled around it, leaving it cold and hard in the air when he sat up again. “Fine, but just so you know, I’m going to take that as a challenge.”

Bakura didn’t trust himself with a response, especially not after Malik pressed against him again with himself, stroking the both of them with a fevered pace. In fact, with a swift motion of his own hand, Bakura had to cover his mouth as another groan escaped. Malik tittered at what he perceived as a pointless action before letting his fingers slide out of Bakura. With a glance, he figured the other was as ready as he was ever going to be, and pressed the tip against Bakura’s entrance.

Bakura could feel himself stretch further than he had ever attempted before. He shut his eyes and tried to relax himself, not wanting to ruin such a moment. There was no reason to be afraid. If there was anyone he trusted, anyone he would willingly give his body to, it was Malik. The irony was not lost on him, but at the moment he was far more concerned with taking in this very eager individual’s cock. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding, and in that instant, he was calm. He was ready.

And Malik took full advantage.

Soon, it did not matter if Bakura attempted silence, or if Malik had been somewhat noisy before. It was clear that this was Malik’s preferred position, as he controlled the thrusts that both he and Bakura would take. Bakura, himself, could not stifle the moans and cries that came from his own mouth, his fist partially shoved against clenched teeth, much less the groans that poured from Malik’s. What had been a slow and tender process before was now an impassioned race to a climax. Bakura could hardly more than keep up with Malik’s pace which was slowly becoming erratic.

Sweat beaded at his hairline, and as he tilted his head back, feeling that overflow of emotion and bodily reaction, Bakura forwent his former attempts at silence and practically screamed an affirmation for Malik to continue. Which of course, Malik obliged. Dark fingers dug into pale hips that wanted as much as they were taken. Malik buried himself deep within Bakura, who wrapped his legs around Malik to keep him there, his arms around his neck so that the other could hear him whine for more and call out his name in the heat of a moment he had only experienced an hour before.

This time Malik came, with Bakura joining him shortly thereafter. 

They lay there in each other’s embrace for what felt like hours, neither caring if it had been. The only thing that mattered to them in this moment was the person wrapped in their arms. Bakura pressed his forehead against Malik’s, kissing the tip of his nose. Purple eyes met brown, both slightly damp with the tears of love and joy and acceptance. Tears that eventually ran down cheeks that raised as they smiled and laughed at the ridiculous faces they were making. Even after they cleaned up, with Bakura safely depositing their used condoms somewhere deep in the garbage, they found themselves lying beside each other, with talk of the future upon their lips.

In this moment their fingers interlaced; not an action as grand as the ones that had transpired just before, but it was more than enough to set both of their hearts aflame and make them feel lightheaded and giddy.

There had been larger moments before this, and ones that would come thereafter, monumental in their effect on their relationship. But those are meant for another time, deserving of their own respect, their own tales. These were just the little things—brief moments that culminated in something both found worth keeping. Worth growing toward.

Relationships thrive off more than the most romantic dates or impassioned speeches of undying love. Sometimes a person just needs the nearness of another to brighten their day, a shoulder to cry on when too much has built up. Sometimes it helps if someone else just understands. These were some of the little things that brought two hurt individuals together and allowed them to create bonds they’d never thought possible. Bonds that brought them down an interesting and confusing path, but one they’d travel together.

To these two souls brought up in loneliness, it was a gesture that meant the world to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally reach the end of this story!
> 
> I have to say, it took longer than I anticipated (partially thanks to irl stuff), but I hope that you all enjoyed it!
> 
> I have some ideas for what I'd like to work on next, but I'm always up for suggestions, too.
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


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